All Hallow's Eve
by blackdiamondskies
Summary: All Malik wanted to do was to get out of the house, get drunk and maybe meet a few pretty girls along the way. However, getting hit on by a vampire and being turned into the undead was definitely NOT on his list. AU Yaoi MalikBakura. R&R.
1. Do Yourself A Favor

**Hi.**

**My, my. So few of you. What's the matter? Doesn't anyone like dark horror nowadays? Ah well. My name is Malik Ishtar. Gender—Male. A few of my old friends would have said "both," but, you know, screw them.**

**They're long dead anyway.**

**Descent—Egyptian, of course. 'Ishtar' should have clued you in. Age—I dunno. Lost track. I **_**was**_** seventeen, until … but I mustn't get ahead of myself. I'm here to tell you a story. Not that I like storytelling, or anything, but I feel I have some knowledge to pass on to my fellow man. If it's October 31st, and you go into a tavern and meet a Gothic-looking young adult who wants to talk with you; do yourself a favor:**

**Leave.**

The flashing lights and loud music of the downtown, seedy club I found myself in that particular night filled my senses to capacity. I waded through throngs of scantily-clad costumed people in a stumbling manner that lacked my usual grace, ready to call it a night before it got much later or I got drunk (I was buzzing pretty hard, already).

As I was trying to find the front door, I found the music and the dancing and the lights to be rather distracting. Still, I managed to avoid any intense bodily contact with anyone on the dance floor, and soon gathered enough wits about me to stand on my toes and peer over the crowds to find what I was looking for.

Unfortunately, trying to stand on your toes when you're balance-impaired is more often than not an unsuccessful venture. I toppled over in a manner of _seconds_.

"Oomph!" A few seconds slow, I realized that my fall had been cushioned somewhat: and then I realized that there was a body under me. I'd fallen on someone. "Oh … excuse me."

The stranger pushed off from me viciously, and stepped away. "Who are you?" The voice was cold, and sent shivers up my spine.

"Um … Malik. My name is Malik Ishtar," I stated, offering my hand. The white-haired boy I had bumped into looked at it warily, and then proceeded to ignore it. After I moment, I lowered my arm uncomfortably. Okay, I guess I _wouldn't_ be shaking his hand. Jerk.

His gaze pierced my face, but he seemed to acknowledge my name with a curt nod of his head. "Bakura," he grunted back, and I waited for more. None came.

"…That's it?"

"Bakura," he repeated, nodding his head sharply. I shrugged my shoulders. He seemed anti-social and unwilling to be cooperative in the conversation, though _he_ was the one who asked for an introduction in the first place. It was just as well … I was in a hurry, and I couldn't quite see his face in the light of the club (or lack thereof) so I wanted to get out of there while I still had all my limbs. _Not_ that I was over-exaggerating, mind you.

"Well, sorry I fell onto you and all that. Have a nice night," I said, smiling at him merrily despite how rude I thought he was, and then excused myself from his presence.

I didn't make it very far before he grabbed my arm. Turning back slightly and making eye contact with him, I stuttered out an intelligent, "Huh?"

He pulled me back, barking out a "Wait." I _really_ didn't like taking orders … but I wouldn't say anything _this_ time around. It was his first offense after all, so I decided to be lenient.

"Yes? Can I help you out or something?" My voice had somehow become much icier, despite the fact that I was still trying to be polite. He didn't seem to notice.

His face didn't change, but I saw a suspicious little glint in his red eyes that I _really_ didn't like. "Come and have a drink with me. You're the first person I've talked to all night," he said, and dragged me over to a nearby table. I didn't get the chance to protest or resist him before he pushed me down into a booth against the farthest wall of the club; the furthest from the door and in the darkest corner. He sat opposite me.

I admit that I was in a bit of a daze … this had happened all so suddenly and my drunken brain was having a difficult time keeping up with the pace of events. That lamp that hung over our table had a faulty wire, causing the yellow bulb to flicker on and off, like a small child was playing with the light switch or something. I suppose I should have been grateful for the illumination; without which I couldn't have possibly noticed the fact that my favorite drink was already in front of me …

I was also able to fully see my new "friend." He was obviously attracted to the Goth look; what with his pitch-black tank top and form-fitting trousers, fishnet quarter-sleeves and large black combat boots. His face was sallow and pale, and his sunken eyes, outlined heavily in black kohl, still watched me intensely. A single pagan earring hung from his left ear, and many silver rings glinted from around his bony fingers.

I shuddered. I could feel his piercing gaze on me even when I wasn't looking at him directly. "Um … well, what exactly did you want to talk about—_Bakura,_ was it?" I took a large swig from the gin and tonic my "host" had kindly provided, hoping it would either calm my nerves, or possibly get me drunk enough to not need nerves at all. There was also a little nagging feeling in the back of my head that told me I would need every single drop.

The man looked down for a moment, stirring idly at his glass of red … _stuff_. _Probably wine, or something girly and fruity,_ I mused.

"I wanted to know more about you," he said at last, looking at me again. I noticed that his eyes were a keen burgundy, almost the exact shade of whatever it was he was drinking. I looked at him oddly, in part because of that strange iris color (contacts?) and in part because of his previous statement. _Wanted to know more about me?_ Okay, that was _**not**_ something to go around admitting to strangers, especially if it was only the second complete sentence you've said to them in your lifetime.

"What? Why?"

Bakura shrugged. "You intrigue me," he stated. He took a sip of his drink; I looked at him like he was crazy.

I _intrigue_ him? I was starting to lose patience with his blunt answers. Now I could see through him; through the whole _act_—he wanted nothing more than to get me in bed.

The thought was maddening, and, to tell the truth, left a sour taste on my tongue. This had happened before, back when I was younger and easily fooled by such an act. That time … I paid the price for my naivety. He was a smooth-talker, and had turned out to be a fast-dresser, too.

I shook my head back into reality, and stared at the white-haired man for a long while. _He wants to know more about me, eh?_ I decided that it was a relatively harmless subject if I approached it cautiously, so I started to tell him about my life.

"Okay then, fair enough. My name is Malik, as you already know … I'm going to be turning eighteen in December, a day before Christmas—but it doesn't matter, since my family doesn't celebrate Christian holidays. We're not Muslim either though—we're not really _anything_ I guess. My ancestors were pagans, but that's a little too _ancient_ for my tastes," I started, sipping gin & tonic in-between sentences. "I have a sister named Isis, by the way, and a step-brother Rishid ... We're all from Cairo originally but we moved to Japan 'cause my sister is running an Ancient Egyptian exhibit at the museum in Domino City."

Hmm, maybe I was being a bit _too_ specific … what if this guy was a stalker? _I'm so careless! I should throw him off_, I thought, _by being a bit more … pointless_.

"Let's see, what else can I say? I have a motorcycle, but I don't have a Japanese license, not that I let _that_ stop me ... I absolutely love rabbits, but I've never had the opportunity to own one. I'm a vegetarian but I hold my alcohol well—wait, wrong conjunction. I'm a vegetarian _and_ I hold my alcohol well ... and that's it I guess."

At the end of my speech, the white-haired man's mouth was slightly open, and he was staring at me with a disbelieving look in his eye. Inwardly, I snickered. Distraction successful! Perhaps now I could make my escape.

Unfortunately, before I could excuse myself once again, he broke out into a grin. "You're very amusing. It's a change from all the usual worthless slugs that run around here. It's a quirk I can appreciate," he said. Now it was _my_ turn to stare at him with my mouth open. This wasn't the reaction I was going for at all!

Suddenly he leaned over the table, closer to me. "Humor aside now, I want to know more … _important_ things about you. Where are your parents? Do you live on your own, or with your siblings? Do you have very many close friends? Where do you go in your spare time? Are you happy with your present life? Can you paint, or dance? Are those contacts, or are your eyes really that color? Can you—"

I was overwhelmed, both with his numerous questions and their stalker-like nature. "Whoa whoa whoa! Slow down, Bakura. I can barely understand you! If you want a question answered, give me time to do so before asking another! Right then. No mother or father; they both died when I was younger. Where I live and where I go is none of your business; yes I have friends; yes I am content with life. I can't draw worth crap, but I guess I can dance okay. And yes, my eyes are truly lavender. I was born with them," I answered.

Bakura was like a sponge, absorbing all my answers. It was another of his attributes that thoroughly creeped me out.

"Favorite color?"

"Gold."

"Favorite flower?"

"The lotus blossom, from my home country."

"Favorite genre of music?"

I had to think about that one. "I like Electronica, I suppose, but nothing can beat the soothing sounds of the lute and drum from Egypt," I answered, sighing as an imaginary lute started strumming a tune in my head. The bliss, however, was interrupted by more interrogation.

"Favorite food?"

"I'm a vegetarian. What the hell do you think, Einstein?"

Bakura was confused. On his wraith-like face, the expression was slightly terrifying. "Einstein? What is that? Is that some sort of insult?"

I raised my hands in the universal sign of surrender, though I was slightly irked at his ignorance. "No, no—never mind. It's not important, Bakura."

Bakura eyed me suspiciously, but continued unhindered. "Favorite animal?"

"Oh, rabbits definitely!"

Bakura's eyebrows rose at my enthusiasm. I shrugged.

"I told you I've always wanted a rabbit," I said. Bakura rolled his eyes.

"Buy one."

"Don't have the money."

"Then steal one."

"_What?_ Don't you have any morals?"

"No, not really."

I could definitely believe that. I smiled regardless, however, because finally we were having something of a normal conversation, and I could feel the familiarity slowly seeping between us and chasing out the _creepy_. We were just two guys, having a drink. It was _normal_.

Of course he'd have to go and ruin it. After a sip of his drink, he said, "I'd steal one for you, if you wanted."

I froze. What did he just say? He'd steal something for _me_?

_God. I'm sitting with a criminal, aren't I? And I'm still here …? Am I insane?_

"N-no, that's okay. I'm just as happy rabbit-free. Besides, I think my sister is allergic, anyway," I muttered. He tossed his head nonchalantly.

"I'd do it for you," he said again, and I decided I'd indulged his creepy selfishness and my need for niceties long enough. I took another swig of the gin & tonic and got up. I didn't fail to notice when Bakura seized up in his seat at my sudden movement. He hadn't planned on spending the whole _night_ with me, had he? No way in _hell_ that was going to happen.

"Bakura, I'm going to take off now. Isis will be up waiting for me. Thanks for the chat—err, I mean the _interrogation_—and the drink," I said cheerily, but there was no smile on his face now. He was just _**watching**_ me. But he'd been doing that all night, however, so it had less of an effect on me now. I was able to ignore it. "Have a good All-Hallows Eve, Baku-chan," I said with a wink, and then turned away. I just barely heard him take in a sharp breath.

"What … did you just call me?"

I _did_ hear that. Turning back around quickly, I tried to placate him. "Baku-chan. Yeah, like a nickname, you know? I do it for everyone, so sorry if it offended you, okay? I'll see you around."

I headed for the door, smiling when I realized I was _finally_ going home. That alcohol was really starting to make me feel sick so I couldn't _wait_ to get to bed.

He didn't let me get that far. When a pale hand shot out and took hold of me once again, my stomach sunk low in my body, and the notion that I might not make it home first crossed my mind.

I heard him get up, and soon his body was right up against mine. He took hold of me from the other side, and I noticed that his hands were _really_ cold. He exhaled into my ear, the released airstream tickling the lobe and making my spine tingle with fear; a fear that was increased tenfold when he whispered these words:

"You aren't going _anywhere_ anymore, Ishtar …"

I tried to dominate my fears, wanting to stand up for myself. The time for being polite had passed. "_Excuse_ me? You can't tell me where I am or am _not_ going! Now take your hands off me at once!" I snarled, and tried to wrench myself out of his grip. I swallowed upon finding this task impossible.

He took both of my arms in one hand, pinning them behind me. His other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me backwards with it. "No. I want to ... _talk_ some more," he said, voice suddenly very sultry and very dangerous. I was pushed back to the booth, stumbling awkwardly until the underside of my knees hit the cushioned seat and I fell into a sitting position.

I didn't like it one bit when he slid into the space next to me.

"What more could you possibly have to ask me?" I snapped, this time successfully tearing my arms away from him. He smirked, and I thought for the second time that evening that I wouldn't make it home tonight. Or _ever_.

"Hm ... let's see now ... oh yes, I know just the question! What is your sexual preference?" He asked darkly, with a steadily widening grin that _really_ made me fear for my safety.

"Women! Women!" I gasped, making sure there was no possibility of misinterpretation.

My outburst didn't seem to faze him, nor make his smile fade. "Well, you know, in the Christian Bible it said that women were created from the rib bone of a man. Really then, you _could_ argue that they were the same thing," he stated, finishing up his drink. My heart missed a beat.

"I thought I told you before, I'm not Christian," I snapped, but I really didn't think it would help any.

And it didn't. He just continued to smile, saying, "It doesn't matter to me whether you are or not. And now, another question: do you believe in the darker side of humanity? In the occult?" He lowered his chin, looking up at me through his white fringe. "...In vampires?" He whispered.

I didn't know whether he was being serious or stupid; whether I should be laughing or cowering. I blamed my sudden spike in nervousness on his dumb creepy face. "H-have you gone soft in the head? There are no such things as _vampires_," I stated.

He bared his teeth in a wicked grin. Funny how I never noticed his _inch-long fangs_ until this moment …

_Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh __**hell no.**_ This wasn't happening! This _couldn't_ be happening! I must have fallen asleep; this must be a dream! Did Bakura slip LSD in my gin & tonic? Had the alcohol finally made me pass out? This couldn't be reality, because last time I checked the real world didn't function like the plot line of a manga novel, and certainly vampires weren't real and _didn't _go around hitting on people in obscure little bars …!

He curled his upper lip, making sure I could see well the twin blades shining eerily in his mouth. "Have I made you a believer?"

I drew back from his serpentine smile. "W-what do you w-want from me?" I asked coldly, but I think it lost its effect with all my stuttering.

"The truth? I want _you_," he whispered in my ear, taking hold of me once again, this time by the waist. I gasped, and pulled away sharply.

"**No!** You can't have me!" I cried, thinking for the _third_ time, the most believable of all times, that I would never see home again. This stranger, this _monster_, was going to _kill_ me.

His expression dropped, his eyes narrowed, and he actually _growled_ at me. "You don't have a choice. I'm stronger than you!" I dived for the other end of the booth, but he snatched my wrist, hard enough to bruise.

"O-ouch!"

And then he was suddenly in front of me, grabbing my upper arm with his other hand and forcing me to my feet. I let out a startled yelp; I hadn't even seen the bastard _move!_ When he started dragging me to the back door of the establishment, I regained my senses and struggled ferociously, going so far as to rake my nails over his exposed pale arm in an attempt to hurt him.

I looked down, astonished when I saw no marks whatsoever. _Shit!_ Losing confidence in my own ability to save myself, I turned to the other bar-goers.

"Help, somebody! Let _go_ of me! **Let go!** Help!"

No one lifted a finger to help me. Those who could even hear me simply watched as he finally succeeded in getting me out the door. We ended up in an alleyway behind the bar, between two rusty old dumpsters. He slammed me up against the wall.

"Now, don't resist me," he cooed, pinning my arms between the wall and my back, and I watched in panic and confusion as his other hand swept my hair away from my neck. "It won't hurt that much if you don't move …"

_Do you believe in vampires …? The truth? I want you … You aren't going anywhere anymore, Ishtar …_

**Oh my god.**

My mind finally registered what he was about to do. "NO!" I screamed, struggling wildly in a final attempt to get away. I can't die! I don't want to die! Hell, I'M TOO PRETTY TO DIE!

Annoyed, he slammed his body down upon mine, crushing me against the wall and preventing movement. "Stop struggling!" He bent down and placed his mouth on my neck.

My eyes closed tightly. I didn't want to see it ... I wish I'd never gone out tonight. In what I thought were my last moments on earth, I thought about my sister and what she would do when she found out I never came home.

Bakura's tongue flicked across my delicate throat skin, bringing me back to the terrible present. "Mmmm," he hummed, and I felt his voice box tremble. "What a beautiful neck. I almost _hate_ to spoil it …"

My voice only came out as a desperate whisper. "Then _don't …_"

I felt him laugh against my neck. "Wouldn't dream of it."

And then he bites.

**Oops. Look at the time. I'll have to stop for now. It's almost dawn! It was lovely talking to you all, and hopefully more will join us next time.**

**Hopefully I'm entertaining you, but this is torture for me! This is messed up as it is, but you just wait!**

**It gets worse.**

**Just one more thing before I go 'out' for dinner. Men, remember what I said about taverns, October 31st, and Gothic people ...**

**Do yourself a favor.**


	2. The Full Moon

**Good evening, my loyal audience. I am pleased to have some of you back, and to have even more new faces! Thank you all for coming. Isn't the full moon lovely? So sad yet enchanting at the same time …**

**Get ready to become enchanted …**

"Mmmm …"

I regained consciousness slowly—and immediately felt a terrible weariness set itself upon my limbs. I found it difficult to move; even my eyelids were too heavy to lift. So I let myself lie there, eyes closed, just thinking about where I was and what had happened. _Let's see … I remember sitting around the house doing nothing all day long but feel restless … and then Isis came home and suggested I indulge in the local folklore and do something for All Hallow's Eve. So I went to a bar, and then …_

My face scrunched up in concentration as I struggled to remember what happened after that.

_I … went to get a drink? Yes, that's it. And then …?_

I focused as hard as my light-headedness would allow, but I continued to draw a blank. I told myself to relax—since I couldn't find a reason to panic, I needn't _make_ myself panic, right?

Oh, lovely, I think I'm panicking.

_Just relax, Malik,_ I said to myself soothingly. _Just open your eyes and all uncertainties will be cleared. Okay? _Holding my breath, I opened my eyes with a swift motion.

Nothing but the sight of my own bedroom greeted me.

_God,_ was I ever glad! I didn't know what I was expecting; I didn't even really know if I _should_ have been expecting anything.

But then I thought of something—maybe my consciousness was telling me something really _did_ happen last night! I looked around my room with suspicious eyes, but couldn't detect a single bead or bangle out of place. Everything was neatly tucked away in its proper spot, just as I liked it.

Why was I still panicking then, dammit?!

The stereotypical light bulb appeared over my head as I came up with an easy solution to my problem.

"Isis!"

I didn't call my sister's name too loudly; I didn't want to wake Rishid up if I could, and their shared bedroom was just next door. She would hear me.

I waited for three minutes, and then frowned slightly. "Isis," I called again, slightly louder than before. Then, strangely, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and a hesitant voice at my door. "Malik?" The door opened, revealing my sister. "Malik! What ... when did you get home?" Her eyes were tired, and she looked very startled to see me in my bed.

"Oh. I was going to ask _you_ that question. Were you downstairs?"

"Yes, I was waiting up for you, but ended up falling asleep in the chair ... did you walk right past me? You should have woken me," Isis scolded, though she still seemed puzzled by the situation. I could understand her confusion—she was an extremely light sleeper, and it was unlikely that the sound of the front door opening and closing wouldn't have woken her.

"I ... guess I must have," I said awkwardly. "I don't quite remember ... what time is it, anyway?"

Isis pulled a face. "Malik Ishtar, if you did something stupid like _climb through your own window,'_ she started threateningly, but I cut her off.

"No, no. I don't think I did anything like that." I flipped on my table-side lamp, and looked at the clock on the opposite wall. "Hmm ... three-fourty." That left a good three-hour chunk of time missing in my memory ... had I spent it all here in my bed? Something was nagging at the back of my mind ... a little sense that I was forgetting something important.

"Well, I don't know what time you got home, but I'm glad you are safe. I'm going to bed. Get back to sleep—you have school in the morning," Isis said, and then closed my door. I heard her enter her own bedroom, then all was silent again.

The early time finally caught up with me, and I felt intensely groggy. My eyes half-closed. I threw the covers haphazardly over me with one hand, and with the other reached up and felt around for the other light switch. My hand found cool plastic, and with a yawn, I flipped the light off.

It didn't take long for sleep to once again claim me.

_Music … dancing ... a flickering light ..._

_Rabbits … steal for me?_

_Ba … Baku … Ra?_

"Wake up, Brother."

_What? No, you can't have … me …_

"Come on, Malik. Up, up, up! I do not _care_ how late you stayed up. I warned you against drinking on a school night!"

"Ngghh. What?"

The voice of my sister finally penetrated my consciousness, rousing me from sleep. Just in the nick of time, too, as my bed sheets came flying off me and my entire body was exposed to the frigid air of our apartment.

God dammit, I _hate_ the cold.

"Fuck, Isis! It's _freezing_!" I yelled, between my clattering teeth.

My sister smiled wryly back at me, and then grabbed my ankle and yanked on it, pulling me out of bed and making me face-plant on the wood floor. "OUCH!"

"Watch your mouth, Malik. Get ready for school, please." She left then, slamming the door behind her. _Man_, who did she think she was? My _mother_?

Rubbing my arms to get the blood circulating, I got up from the floor and headed to the bathroom. I can't _wait_ to get under that nice, hot water …

It was very bright in the hallway, compared to the darkness of my room. All the curtains were pulled back from the windows, and the florescent light bulbs were shining like miniature suns in their sockets. My eyes started to sting badly, so I shut them tightly, shading them with a hand as I felt along the wall and walked cautiously in the direction I knew the bathroom to be.

It was a perfectly normal occurrence to experience some discomfort when going from complete darkness to sudden brightness, so I didn't think anything of it at first when I started out. But as I further approached my destination, I began to feel another kind of discomfort—_heat_. It was fucking _hot_ in that hallway, and I felt my skin begin to itch with the intensity of it. It was so strange, especially because I had been so cold just moments before, and it was the first of November: not the warmest time of the year.

A few seconds later, I entered the bathroom and everything became as it should be. I shook the strange situation from my mind and soon forgot it all together as I showered and prepared myself for the day to come.

I remained ignorant of the greater power at work in my body.

* * *

"Hey Malik! You're a bit later than usual," someone called, and I looked up from the sidewalk to see Yugi-chan waving to me from the front gate of my school. His usual groupies were all standing around him, watching me approach.

Jounouchi-kun waved a bit. When I got over to him, I shoved him for a giggle. "Yeah, well, you're much earlier, especially you Katsuya," I said back. Jounouchi-kun made to punch my shoulder, but missed; he straightened up and we all had a laugh.

"I offered him a ride this time, so he didn't have to walk. You know how easily he gets distracted!" Honda chuckled, and Jou just shrugged. We all retreated into the school building.

On the way, Anzu sidled up next to me. "Good morning Malik-san," she said, batting her big eyelashes at me, and inwardly I groaned. Ever since Yugi's mysterious elder brother had _dumped_ her ass, she'd been constantly flirting with me and trying to get my attention. Forcing a smile on my face, I nodded.

"And to you."

Thankfully the group reached my locker, so I escaped from Anzu's perfectly manicured clutches and broke off from the group. Jounouchi-kun followed me, since his locker was right next to mine.

Unlocking it, I was barely able to shove my coat inside before Jounouchi-kun suddenly leant in a little bit closer to me, and I was taken aback. He had a serious look on his face and his close proximity was making me nervous.

"What?" I said, trying to back up inconspicuously. Jou was still giving me that soul-piercing gaze when he said, "Are you feeling alright?"

I looked back and forth, trying to figure out if he was speaking to me or somebody else. "Me?"

"Yes, _you_. You look really pale. Seriously, no joke—hey, Yug'!" He turned his head to call further down the hallway, where Yugi's locker was located. Yugi hadn't quite gotten there yet, but loyally he turned around and headed back to where Jou and I were standing.

"What's up, Jou?"

"Hey, doesn't Malik look sick?"

Yugi-chan gave me that same, judgmental stare that Jou had been giving me, and it made me even more nervous. "Hey! Stop it, will ya?"

Yugi-chan pulled back first, having reached a decision. "Yes, you are pale. You sure you aren't sick?"

I nodded. "Absolutely. Never been better."

Satisfied with my answer, both boys gave me space. I felt relieved.

"Well, if you're sure … I'll see you later, Malik; Jou!" Yugi left, waving. I smiled back, and headed to class. Jounouchi-kun joined me, since he had my homeroom. We chatted about trading cards until the bell rang, and class had to begin.

I was glad to forget everything that had happened this morning, and what might have happened last night. Who really cared anymore?

* * *

Maybe I _was_ sick. I don't know.

As the day wore on ever so slowly, all I could think about was how _tired_ I seemed to be, and how it was impossible to keep my eyes open during class for some reason. Many teachers throughout the day called me out for napping multiple times; but I could do nothing other than sheepishly apologize and fall back asleep a few minutes later.

And there was also that itching, stifling feeling—the one I had experienced this morning outside the bathroom—that made me sweat at the brow and under my jewelry—which I had to take off, eventually. It wasn't a warm day by any standards, but yet I was so goddamned _hot_! The weird thing about this was that even as I put a hand to my forehead to wipe off sweat or check for a fever, my skin was _cold_ to the touch. Was such a thing even possible? It didn't make any sense!

Every time I saw Yugi-chan and the groupies, they _all_ commented on how much paler and sicker I looked. And I was _feeling_ it. As it was, Jounouchi-kun had to practically _carry_ me to class.

On top of everything else, my eyes were starting to get irritated by bright lights again. I had to ask the teacher to dim the lights upon entering the biology lab, much to the annoyance of the teacher herself. And when it came time to look at plant cells under the microscopes, I couldn't look into the viewer without my eyes tearing up. And I don't even want to _mention_ laptop screens. Other than the fact that I avoided them at all costs.

To say the least, my day was absolutely miserable. _I just want to go home …_

"Malik-san! Is this seat taken?"

I lifted my head from where I had laid it on the table to see Anzu looking at me curiously, hand ready to pull out the seat next to me. _Peachy_. Sighing, I raised my head just long enough to shake it dismissively, and then I put it back down. I heard her plop her purse and lunch tray down, and pull out the chair.

"Yugi-chan and the others are coming too," she said, taking a seat. I winced; her high-pitched tone cut through my head like a knife through butter. Is it too late to send her away?

Definitely too late. I heard three more chairs slide out, as well as a loud voice that said, "Aww, man! If these are edible, spear me with a chopstick! This stuff ain't for humans, I swear!"

Honda, Jounouchi, and Yugi all laughed, and my skull got another swipe with that knife.

Clutching my head, I groaned loudly. "Ugh, cut it out guys! Your voices are giving me a headache," I mumbled.

Yugi-chan looked sympathetic. "Maybe you should go home, Malik," he suggested.

It was a good suggestion—unfortunately, the school nurse was the one who decided who got to go home, and he was a _hardass_. No one _ever_ got to go home.

"Going to the nurse isn't good for my health," I mumbled back. The others chuckled.

"Hear, hear."

They started to eat. I didn't touch anything—I wouldn't have been able to keep it down anyway.

My nose started to twitch. I lazily opened one eye to see Jounouchi-kun and Honda laughing about something.

"What's going on?" Yugi-chan beat me to the question. Whatever it was, it was _really_ irritating my nose.

Jounouchi-kun raised a small baggie from under the table; in which was a small clove of garlic. "I'm gonna spice up these lumps into something edible! I finally remembered to bring it," he stated proudly, untying the bag and taking out the garlic.

And then I smelled the most _pungent odor_ I've ever smelled in my life; the scent so thick in the air it nearly suffocated me. I covered my nose with both hands, and pushed away from the table quickly, overturning my chair in the process. Immediately four sets of eyes were on me, confused and concerned.

"Malik-san! What's the matter?"

Hands still over my nose, I froze. What could I say? _'Sorry, I don't like garlic?'_ I'd never had a problem with it before!

What the hell was wrong with me?

I had to say _something_. I couldn't just stand there like an _idiot_.

"I think I'm going to try to go home now," I said, hands guarding my nostrils from the horrid garlic smell. Then I ran out of the cafeteria like a madman.

I hoped, in vain of course, that they weren't becoming concerned over my sanity.

I wasn't going crazy, was I?

* * *

A goddamned miracle, that's what it was.

The nurse, despite his reputation, decided that I qualified for early dismissal, and called Isis to come and get me. When she came to pick me up at the office, she took one look at my pale, miserable face and assured me that I would not be coming back tomorrow.

Arriving home, I wasted no time. Going into the bathroom, I took the washcloth from the rack and the facial soap from the bathtub, and went up to the sink mirror to wash my face and brush my teeth before going to bed. Yes, I was going to bed at two in the afternoon.

My eyes rose to the mirror curiously; I wanted to see how sickly I had appeared to the others. As my eyes settled on the reflective surface, there came one of those instances where time itself seemed to stop due to an intense feeling of fear or horror.

The bottle and cloth dropped from my hand with a loud clatter. My heart rate increased, and my breath came out in ragged gasps. I desperately clung to the edge of the sink, and felt as if I could vomit and any time. My wide eyes were locked on that horrible, horrible image being reflected before me; and the need to get away—to get away from that damn mirror and its damn reflection—it consumed me. Yet I could not take my eyes off the mirror, _that fucking mirror_, which was reflecting—

Nothing.

_I had no reflection_.

There was no Malik Ishtar; no wide, frightened lavender eyes; no pale, triangular face; no lean, thin arms grasping desperately at the sink … just the closet door and the space where I _should_ be.

I tried to make some sense of this situation, but I couldn't even _move_, let alone think properly. I wanted to run, I wanted to scream … but all I could manage was the closing of my eyes.

I felt my knees give in, and I hit my forehead on the corner of the sink as my body slumped to the floor. I grasped my injured head with both hands and curled into a ball, starting to—of all things—_cry_. I couldn't help it. I felt as though the very foundations of my life were collapsing around me, and I was helpless to stop it. I was a weak _child_, unable to do anything but lay there and _cry._ God. Any little shove would surely send me over the edge into inexistence, if it hadn't happened already. After all, I no longer had a reflection …

My eyes were shut tight, and I was rocking back and forth, trying to soothe my own senses. _Everything will be alright,_ I said to myself; _just rest and everything will be fine._

Isis must have heard me crying. She burst through the bathroom door and found me all disgraceful on the floor.

Like some kind of baby, all I could do was throw myself pathetically into her embrace as she crouched down to comfort me and bawl my eyes out.

"Malik! Malik, what's wrong, little brother? Are you hurt? Sick? RISHID! Speak to me, Malik—_oh god_, _there's blood_—RISHID, COME QUICKLY! Come on, little brother …"

"Isis, what's happened?"

"He's sick! His forehead is cut … Rishid, do something!"

Strong arms wrapped around my torso and there was a lifting sensation in my head. Rished probably had picked me up, but with my mind going foggy I wasn't sure. Whatever had happened, it made me even dizzier, so I let my tense body to limp.

All the weariness that I had felt all day caught up with me and made my body shut down. I couldn't … even think …

The last thing that registered in my mind as I fell asleep is—oddly, but I didn't think of it at the time—burgundy eyes …

"_W-what do you w-want from me?"_

"_The truth? I want __**you**__."_

_Blood-red eyes …_

"_No! You can't have me!"_

"_You don't have a choice! I'm stronger than you!"_

_Inch-long fangs, gleaming—_

"_Let go! __**Help**__, someone! LET GO!"_

"_Stop struggling!"_

_Teeth at my throat …_

"_**NOO!"**_

_Baku-chan. . . ._

"No … don't … uhhh."

_Somebody, make him stop! Get … away …_

"NO!" I awoke sharply as my eyes snapped opened and I leapt up from the bed, arms unconsciously raised in defense. My gaze darted around the room, trying to locate the disturbance that had roused me from sleep.

I didn't have to look long. The disturbance made itself known as a hand came around from behind and clamped over my mouth. Another arm found its way around my hips, holding my body still.

"_Quiet!" _A voice hissed.

My eyes grew wide in horror and I tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled sound. I grabbed the offending hands with my own and started to struggle frantically.

"Stop! Be still! Look, I will release you if you promise not to yell, alright? Now relax! I will not harm you, so don't be afraid."

Ha ha, very funny. 'Don't be afraid,' eh? Yeah, right. Too bad I loved my life so much, or I would have _bit_ his hand, as hard as I could. _Damn_ my cowardice.

I stopped moving, and begrudgingly nodded once. The hand pulled away from my face. "Good. See? Everything is fine now," the voice said soothingly.

How _dare_ some bastard break into my room, give me the scare of my life, and then have the audacity to treat me like I'm ten? I whipped around, preparing to show this guy exactly who he was dealing with; but as soon as I saw the intruder, I stopped.

My blood ran cold. For a second time that day, another horrible second, time stopped. The air became frigid, and I shivered madly. All I could see was _him_—spiky white hair … dark burgundy eyes, so cold and empty …

My hear was in my throat. I felt as though I was going to be sick; such was the fear that gripped me. I remembered my dream—only to come to the terrible realization that it was _not_ a dream, but a replay of a very specific, very _horrific_ memory.

Time continued, and he spoke again.

"Hello, Malik."

**Quite the good place to stop once again, I believe. I can't stay here forever, and I'm getting rather hungry anyway. I hope I made you quite mad with where I decided to stop. Hahaha!**

**Oh dear, someone seems to be having quite the influence on me.**

**Until the next full moon …**


	3. The Turning

**Good evening.**

**This is not a pleasant part of my tale, and I apologize in advance—this will be a rather short instilment of the story, and I won't go into much detail.**

**For I never enjoy remembering my own death.**

Time continued, and he spoke again.

"Hello, Malik."

_Oh my god. Oh god. Please, no. I'm dreaming. Please let me be dreaming._

I backpedaled, he moved forward. So I backed up further; he only followed me. He continued this mind game, this dance of fear and dominance, determined to win; and he did, when I ran out of space and hit the wall behind me.

"A-Ah … Bakura …?" I gasped out, in between fearful huffs, groping behind me for something usable … like a light switch, a door handle, or some kind of weapon. A big stick would be nice.

Meanwhile, he took a final step closer to me, now only a few inches from my trapped body. His expression was quizzical, which confused me, and then his face fell.

"Aren't you going to call me Baku-chan anymore?"

I do believe it was the ridiculousness of his question that made me forget my fear. "Huh?"

"In the bar, you called me _Baku-chan_. Aren't you going to do it again?" His tone was deadpan, but I could see the eagerness in his garnet eyes.

It sickened me. "No! I only give nicknames to friends—and you _certainly_ don't qualify as one of those! You're not even _human_, dammit!" I tried to sidle along the edge of the wall, to get closer to the door and my ticket out of here—but he sensed my motives and slammed his palms down on either side of my head, effectively trapping me. My fear returned tenfold. "G-get away from me!"

The pale hand on the side furthest from the door lifted from the wall and snatched up my chin in an iron grasp. He held my head in place as he ran a freezing-cold tongue up my face and along my cheekbone, stopping at my ear. _What the __**fuck**__ did he think he was doing?_

"Never," he whispered huskily, and then slid the hand up and buried it in my hair.

Shivering madly with a combination of fear, anger and the cold, I tried to struggle, but it was a weak resistance at best, seeing as most of my muscles were devoted to quivering. He stepped away from me a little, releasing my jaw, confident that he had frightened me into submission. As much as I would have _loved_ to prove him wrong, my knees proved too jiggley to support my weight so I went crashing to the floor, much to my supreme embarrassment.

He laughed darkly, his twin ruby irises shining brightly in their sockets. "Yes, I do seem to have that effect on people."

Grabbing the wall and heaving myself up again, I feebly attempted to glare. "What do you w-want from me? Haven't you given me enough g-grief already?"

He chuckled deeply in his throat, and to me it sounded like the crunching of gravel. I wanted to cover my ears and hide. "Grief? My dear Malik Ishtar, you have no _inkling_ as to the meaning of the word," the vampire drawled, suddenly becoming much less amused, and much more angry. "What do I want from you? I thought I made myself clear in the bar. I want your _body_." Before I could even begin to react, he had his arms around my waist and was kissing me wetly, running his tongue over my lips. Gagging, I attempted to pull my mouth away, but it was not a successful venture. When he had had his fill, he recalled his tongue to its rightful place, and whispered, "I want your life."

That assuming, arrogant _son of a bitch_ had gone too far. The stolen, unwanted kiss and his demanding, terrible words helped my anger swell over my fear—I snarled at him and struggled more violently, throwing his arms off my body by planting a foot in his midriff, hoping to knock him down. He doubled over slightly, grunting—but I supposed that because he had no breath to lose, the attack wasn't nearly as effective as I usually found it to be. He didn't budge, and his gaze was suddenly much more menacing, peering up through his white fringe. He grabbed my foot and threw it down with so much force I violently tipped forward into his body, and he caught me with restraining arms and slammed me back into the wall.

Seeing that I could do nothing else, I shouted in his ear. "No! Let me go! I won't _let_ you!"

He became even angrier, and forced my arms behind my back to restrain my struggles and prevent another incident from occurring. "Shut up! The choice is not yours to make! Besides, it's too late—I've already sealed your fate, human! I've bitten you! Don't you understand? You're _dead_!"

The words cut through my body. "W-what?" I felt my body go limp in the vampire's arms as the words slowly sank into my brain, devoid of meaning. I stood quietly; listening, waiting, _feeling_ for the comprehension of those words to strike me. Bakura let me go and turned away stoically. "I … died? Last night … you killed me?" I tried to wrap my head around the concept, but no matter what I did the words remained incomprehensible. "But … but—!"

Bakura turned back to me, his face still emotionless. "_Almost_. You are most of the way dead. The Turning is nearly complete in your body—there's just one last thing I need to do." He began to form a grin.

"You see, it's your _heart_ … feel it? Go on, put your hand up to your chest, that's it ... you can feel it, can't you, fluttering weakly? It's struggling against the dark forces taking over your body. And _that's_ the problem. To overcome this last beating obstacle, I need one more crucial element ..." He swiftly approached me again, and removed a chain from under his tank top, on which was a back winged vial. He unscrewed the top, and inhaled the scent of the contents with a near-orgasmic look on his face. "Blood."

_Oh God_. I don't like the sound of that. I shrunk back, unable to go anywhere with the wall at my back and this frightening _vampire_ at my front. Like a tiger ready to pounce, Bakura was approaching me light-footedly, with a predatory smile on his face. "I let you rest for a day, to let the Turning take its own course—but now I've come back to collect what's rightfully mine," the white-haired demon stated, and his hand shot up to grasp my jaw firmly. He forced my chin up, so he could look directly into my terrified eyes. His garnet eyes were chaotic, borderline psychopathic.

"_You are dead…"_

Surely those words must be true, for in his eyes I saw a glimpse of _hell_.

"You belong to me now, Ishtar … I _created_ you. I am your creator, your _king, _your _**GOD!**_ And you are my possession, my pretty little _toy_!" With his other hand, he waved the open vial under my nose. I wanted to retch at its rancid smell."I order you to drink this! Drink it, human, and complete your Turning! Bind your contract with me! Seal your fate!"

I realize only now that the blood must have made Bakura _mad_ with lust and hunger, but at that moment I was more afraid then I had ever been in my entire life. The hand that was holding my chin captive wrenched my teeth apart, and he practically shoved the vial down my throat. I thrashed and screamed as I felt the warm, thick liquid flood the cavern of my mouth, waiting to be swallowed … but that was what Bakura _wanted_, so I would be damned if I did it. I'd be damned if I let him do this to me!

He growled angrily at my resistance, and in response shoved the vial even further inside my mouth. My struggles had brought us to the floor, with him sitting on top of me, using his knees to pin me down forcefully. "Swallow!" He commanded, and dug his elbow painfully into my stomach. _Oh God._ I could feel myself beginning to choke. Some of the blood dribbled down my chin; forming red rivers that stained my lips and neck as they meandered slowly down the curves of my face … I couldn't breathe, and the blood was trying to force itself down my throat. I kept thrashing; hitting and scratching and kicking any inch of Bakura I could reach, all the while chanting in my mind, _don't swallow, don't swallow_ … but it was a weak force compared to the aching. I _had_ to breathe! I was choking! I was dying …

"SWALLOW IT, DAMN YOU!" Bakura screeched, pounding on my chest, trying to make me take in the liquid. I was steadily choking to death, and in those few terrifying moments it became obvious to me that I had two choices: to not swallow, and die of asphyxiation, or to swallow the blood, and die—to live as a corpse.

I closed my eyes. The choice should have been easy—_nothing_ was worth eternal suffering, of living millennia after millennia, watching all those I cared about die while I lived, rotting on the inside and yet unable to join them. I should have let myself die for _good_. But I … I was so _afraid_ of death. I had watched death take my mother, and had called death to our door when I had murdered my abusive father … and every night, nightmares of that same force, that invincible enemy called Death plagued my unconsciousness, reminding me that I owed it two lives, and it _would_ come to collect.

I was a coward. With all this fear surrounding me—fear of the vampire, fear for my siblings, of becoming undead and losing my humanity—the fear of Death remained my greatest. Letting out a choked, bloody sob and damning my stupidity, _I swallowed_.

Bakura positively shrieked with glee, clapping his hands together like some demented five-year-old, pleased that he was getting what he wanted after all. The very notion of that made me sick with anger, but I didn't have much time to dwell on the subject as a terrible pain arose from my insides, one that made me truly believe I was dying. Bakura took my wrists and held them on the floor with almost enough force to break them, while the rest of his body slammed down on me, keeping me quite efficiently restrained. I hardly noticed as the pain in my body reached a crescendo, making me scream in agony. I tried to curl in around the pain, but my captor's body kept my motions at bay.

My chest felt like it was being crushed, and I found myself quite unable to breathe. I barely heard, over my own screams, the sound of the horrible scratchy gasps that were filling in the lapses in shouts. Somewhere in the background of all my cries, I could hear Bakura laughing hysterically, as if watching a particular hilarious comedy on the television … did he really get so much pleasure from my pain? Was I really dying? I was so petrified … and then strangely … _sleepy …_

Blackness started eating away at the corners of my peripheral vision, encouraged by my fatigue … but I mustn't! _If I fall unconscious,_ I told myself, _then I most certainly will die!_ The pain in my chest ached so badly, and my lungs were so utterly useless … I screamed and screamed and screamed, feeling tears flooding my eyes and spilling over my cheeks. I wonder if I was dead yet? My screams were barely murmurs of discomfort, now … my vision just a small blur of color in the middle of a vast sea of blackness. It was at this time I realized that I hadn't a prayer in the world. I was going to die; right here, right now.

So I accepted it.

I let myself go limp, giving into my fatigue and my pain. Without my resolve, the black curtain soon fell over me completely, and I prepared to succumb to it wholeheartedly. Closing my tearful, vacant crystal eyes, I gave a little sigh and felt myself pass away.

_**(Sighs)**_** The worst day of my life . . . and the last day, too; how ironic.**

**That was the hardest part of the story to re-tell . . . I hope I was able to get across just how terrified I was of dying . . . death had always been my greatest fear, you see, ever since I witnessed the death of my father. . . How odd, though, that when my death was inevitable, I just succumbed to it. . .**

**I need to take a break—this was very hard on me. I will return soon to continue our conversation. Until then, my dear, **_**Adieu**_**.**


	4. Emuln Machae

**Welcome back, everyone. My apologies for keeping you all waiting. Let's see … where did we leave off? Oh yes, I recall now.**

**Now I am dead, murdered by the vampire, Bakura. But just what happened to me after that? And why did he do it in the first place? Well, I'll tell you. It started with a garden …**

Lavender … and chamomile …

Sweet-smelling plants were all around me as I rested in the center of a beautiful garden; my hands placed under my head in relaxation and my lilac eyes turned skyward … smiling serenely, I watched the clouds as they rolled by, seeing how many shapes they could make as they circled the world. The sun brushed my skin so pleasantly, warming me straight down to my soul. There was music playing, somewhere out there … I let my eyes close as I listened, soothed by the beautiful melody …

But then, all of a sudden, the rolling clouds became dark and foreboding; they gathered in masses and formed a solid wall over the sun. It grew chilly, and goose bumps rose on my arms and legs. I rubbed at them, frowning at the abrupt change. The aroma of herbs became sickly-sweet, and too overbearing. I had to hold my breath, or else I felt I would gag … the music grew in volume and the tune became haunting, echoing around the garden and sending shivers up my spine. My lungs were burning—I needed air! I needed it, yet the more I tried to breathe the more my lungs protested … what was wrong with me?

It was so cold! Dew formed on the grass around me, yet it did not stay in such a state for long—I quickly turned to frost as the temperature continued to drop.

And just then, I felt something cold, wet, and slimy sliding down my neck … what was it? Hesitantly, my fingertips brushed against my throat, coming in contact with the slime rolling off me. What was it? I slowly brought my fingers up towards my face, so I could see the liquid that tainted them … and wanted to vomit.

Blood … blood; blood everywhere—dripping onto my cheek, flowing down my neck, staining my clothes …

Death. I saw death—smelled it, heard it, felt it … the music reached its climax …

I woke up.

My eyes were slow to focus when they opened, more slowly than with normal grogginess; like something needed to pull itself together in order to reform some kind of connection with the synapses of my brain, so sight could be processed.

Where was I? I heard myself try to groan out this question aloud, but as I turned my heavy head to the side to discover the answer myself, the pillows under me seemed only to grow more cushiony, and lure me back into the comforts of a soft unawareness. I could have lain there for _ages_, but my drowsiness was interrupted when a shiver crawled up my spine, drawing my mind out from fuzzy oblivion. I was _freezing_. I curled up into a tight ball, instinctively trying to use my own body to get warm; but after minutes of waiting, the situation didn't improve. I winced as I touched my bare skin, which felt like ice. _Where was I_? Why was it so cold?

These desperate questions pushed the exhaustion from my consciousness—the need for answers overrode the sleep and the chill. Focusing my vision once again, I carefully sat up and immediately took note of the situation at hand.

The first thing that drew my attention was the massive framework of a wooden four-poster bed enclosing the space around me, made of a beautiful dark cherry-wood that was heavily polished and carved so intricately that my jaw actually slackened a little in awe. The four posts that held up the top of the bed were full of faces and designs—the profiles and figures of beautiful women with winged helmets and body armor—I want to say they are Goddesses of some sort—and what looked like thick tree vines spiraling up the wooden poles and around the bodies of the women. The vines, strangely enough, were more crudely formed than the rest of the sculptures; rough and uneven as if unfinished.

Looking directly up, I was further amazed to see many strange symbols carved into the canopy. Memories from Ancient Studies class in school last year and my sister's evening hours as a museum curator (I spent most of my night in her company) informed me that they were called 'Runes,' of Norse and Celtic origin … _Ra_ but there were so many of these small symbols! Yet, as I looked more closely, I could see repetitions of certain patterns of characters, all spiraling around in a square until they reached the focal point of the design, where a mighty dragon circled around itself and was consuming its own tail—a beast circle. Inside the dragon's ring was a large symbol, painted gold, standing out from the rest. I wondered what it meant …

Silken plum cascades of sheer curtain fell from each post, currently drawn shut for privacy and seclusion. A modern, purple masculine comforter draped over me and across the mattress, completing the image of what was to me the most majestic piece of furniture I had ever laid eyes on.

Deciding that I had had my fill of ancient runes and creepy sculptures, I turned aside the blankets and crawled over to the edge of the bed, marveling once again at its sheer size. If I had to guess, I'd say five more people could fit in here with me and still have room to move around!

I pulled back the transparent drapery of the bed and peered around at the room I found myself in, growing more disbelieving by the second. It was a dark, ancient-looking stone room, one that would be at home in a history book, or a fairytale—like the master bedchamber of a castle from medieval times, I thought. I laughed at this, even though I was getting slightly frustrated and angry at my confusion—_I'm in a fucking __**castle**__,_ I thought. _Or I'm dreaming … either one will work._

A soft snapping sound resounded suddenly throughout the room, startling me out of my thoughts, and I turned my head to the left to notice an ancient fireplace set against the wall. A small fire was crackling merrily inside, in front of two overstuffed chairs and a coffee table set up in the area. The fire coated the objects before it in a gold, cozy glow.

It looked warm and inviting … but it was hard to appreciate when I found myself in an unfamiliar place with no memory as to how I got here, and of course not forgetting to mention the fact that I felt like a fucking _refrigerator._

Rubbing my arms, I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress and set my feet on the stone floor, realizing as I looked down at my body that someone had changed my clothing—I was wearing a white turtleneck and black lounge pants, both of which looked out of place on my normally colorful body. To make things worse I noticed that whoever took my clothes also pinched my jewelry, seeing as my collar, armbands, and both earrings were missing.

Who was responsible for this? And where was I? I couldn't remember anything; only the feeling that something had gone _horribly_ wrong last night.

Shit, I didn't sleep with any strangers did I? A glance back at the bed, however unnecessary, debunked that theory, at least temporarily.

Treading lightly over to the sitting area, I collapsed into an armchair, trying to soak up the heat that I knew had to be radiating from the cheery little fire. It was so cold … but as I sat there a moment longer, I realized that the atmosphere's temperature had not increased in the slightest bit, and I was still freezing.

Chalking it up as simply an odd occurrence, I stood up again and went right up to the fire. I crouched down directly in front of the grate and stuck my hands out, palms facing outwards, a mere shoulder's breadth away from the dancing flames. I waited for the warmth to sink in.

My eyes went wide as I noticed nothing—not the heat, nor warmth, nor burning sensation of a hand near a flame; just an oppressive coldness that sunk into my skin and settled down deep into the marrow of my bones. I could not come up with a logical explanation, and besides throwing myself into the fire I couldn't come up with another way to warm myself and prove this wasn't some crazy nightmare …

Was it just me, or did it seem that the air was getting colder? I felt my body shiver; from the cold or from fear, I couldn't say. Pushing up off my heels, I backed away from the fire and fell limply into the armchair again, forcibly stopping my shaking. _You're overreacting,_ I told myself harshly. _Stop acting like a pansy and grow a pair. You're okay._

I tried to take in a deep breath, to calm my nerves and ease the self-imposed tension in my body. To my complete horror, however, no air was taken in and all I heard coming from my throat was a scratchy, god-awful gasp.

My eyes grew wide in horror as I grasped my neck, trying in vain to bring oxygen to my lungs. All attempts ended in failure, and all that seemed to accumulate was a growing sense of panic.

"I would stop doing that, if I were you."

The sudden voice, lackluster and chilling, resounded like the crack of lightning overhead, startling me. I looked up into dark, burgundy eyes … and a final gasp stuck in my throat and transformed into a wounded little mewl.

_Oh, God. I remember._

I remembered _everything_. The night my entire world collapsed in upon itself, when those cold, bitter red eyes first glared at me as I apologized for running into a stranger … I remembered what they looked like glazed over and near-crazed with triumph as I swallowed a thick, red poison that proved everlastingly fatal … and I remembered my last visions as a creature of the living, those final moments, when those cold bitter red eyes watched me breathe my very last breath …

"B-Bakura …"

Now those demon-eyes were staring down at me haughtily, condescendingly. They each seemed to mock me, regal on their thrones of bone and flesh.

"Stop that awful racket. Are you really so stupid? You are _deceased_. Trying to make your organs function again is not only pointless, but also a waste of precious energy. Stand up; you look like a fool."

To simply _stop_ breathing was only simple in words … I was fighting a subconscious reflex ingrained in my DNA, fueled by my panic and desperation to satiate the need. Giving it every effort, I forced my throat to close and stopped the struggles.

There was silence as nothing happened. There were no more adverse effects, no repercussions of not breathing; there was only the silence of a life-changing realization that I really _was_ dead. It was true.

"God … what h-have you done to m-me?" My voice was nothing but a shaky whisper as I held out my arms in front of me, viewing with a sickening grimace the pallid, unhealthy color of my once-tanned skin, and noticing no pain as I tentatively pinched the skin there. I felt nothing.

Bakura's eyes narrowed. "God? God has nothing to do with you anymore, boy."

My only logical response was a hateful glare. It seemed to stir Bakura's annoyance even more. "And just where do you get the gall to act like that? You should be on your knees before me, _thanking_ me! I've given you a _gift_, one that mankind has dreamt about since the beginning of time—immortality! And yet you shake and whine, like some piece of human _filth_ …" Bakura gave me a superior stare, gritting his teeth. Yet I wasn't so intimidated as I should have been—his words, on the inside, only seemed twitchy and unsure … dare I say, regretful?

I looked him straight in the eyes, my tone laced with hurt and confusion. "Thank you? For _what_, exactly? At the cost of my life, you have given me a gift that I didn't even ask for! You didn't even _think_ to consider whether I wanted it or not—how could you do that to me? How could you wish your curse upon anyone else?"

Bakura's eyes blazed harshly. "You'll find, my _dear_ Malik, that I am not a man to care for _anyone_ other than himself," he spat.

When I first met him, and even earlier this night, when he appeared in my bedroom back in Domino, I would have been terrified of the sight of him at this moment. Like the fire in the pit, his eyes gleamed with the heat of anger and hatred, yet left me stone cold in their presence.

But, thinking over what I had become, his threat dulled in my mind. If I truly _was_ dead, then he couldn't harm me, not really. Any pain inflicted wouldn't be felt, right?

My thoughts giving me courage, I stood up and proudly _defied_ him.

"As if _that_ wasn't obvious to me! And you know what else is obvious about you? You're a filthy murderer and a _pervert_ too! I _hate_ you!"

In that instant, I learned yet another thing about the white-haired vampire—he's _damn_ fast. Before I had even realized that he'd moved, he slammed me up against one of the four posts of the bed and wrapped his hand threateningly around my throat.

"Oh, you _hate_ me, do you? Perfect. I absolutely _love_ it when people tell me that. And since you adore learning so much, _Malachi_, I will tell you more things about me!" There was mirth in his eyes, but a scowl lay upon his lips, ruining his façade.

He leant in, his eyes hooded and his lips barely brushing against my cheek. He spoke in a low, dangerous tone.

"One; you are right to call me a murderer. I have the blood of _thousands_ on my hands … and on my _fangs …_" His throat vibrated with a soft cackle, and suddenly instead of the soft caress of chilled lips on my cheek, there were two sharp teeth grazing a bruised path across it. The feeling was not painful, but not altogether comfortable either. I winced.

He pulled away, but not far. "Two; if you hadn't noticed yet, I have a superiority complex." His cheeky smile turns around, and the hand around my throat a little tighter. "If you dare talk back to me like that ever again, you will sorely regret it," he warned. He took a little time to drag his teeth down further, to my jaw line. I couldn't help but shudder. Just where was he going with those teeth?

"S-stop—!"

He interrupted my weak protest, drowning out my voice with a loud, livid hiss. "Three; I am a centuries-old vampire. The next time you think to open your _shithole_ mouth, do yourself a favor and _**remember your place**_!"

Then he bit me as hard as he could; nearly in the exact place he had done so the other night—and for some unfathomable reason, it _hurt_. I gasped in shock and pain, bringing arms up to try and pull him off me but only managing to squirm awkwardly in his grip. The effort it took not to cry out multiple times was great.

He pulled his teeth out of my neck after an agonizing while, and released me. I relaxed in relief almost subconsciously as the pain subsided. Wincing, I rubbed my neck—I could feel the holes, but nothing was coming out. _There is nothing __**to**__ come out,_ I reminded myself miserably.

My eyes fixated on Bakura's haughty form with anger and confusion. "I thought I was _dead_," I ground out, glaring at him through my disheveled blonde fringe. He, considerably calmer than a moment ago, raised an eyebrow.

"Aye … that you are. What are you, deaf _and_ stupid?"

"What? No," I dismissed the insult quickly, waving my hand. "Why did it hurt when you did that? I thought vampires couldn't feel pain!" I ran fingers over my bloodless wounds. Bakura grinned.

"Oh, but dear _Malachi_, we **do** feel pain!"

He sounded ecstatic. It made me sick. "I don't understand. If we're dead, then how—?"

"Simply because I am your creator, Malik. I own you completely, and have control over every aspect of your afterlife," Bakura interjected smugly. "I am your personal curse. I can make you feel pain whenever I please," he added.

That wasn't good enough for me. "I don't understand! If my nerves are as dead as the rest of me, how can I feel anything at all?"

Bakura turned his nose up at me. "To explain the mechanics behind the reason would be a waste to your stupid brain. Just know that if you run your mouth off to me again I won't be kind."

_Yeah, okay,_ I thought angrily. _That's just the same as saying he doesn't know._

Oops. That's right. He's a mind reader.

"Little _brat!_ There are darker powers in this world that you couldn't even _begin_ to wrap your pretty head around! To use human physiology or biology to attempt an explanation of the vampiric is imbecilic and downright _insulting!_"

I was going to get sick of the whole mind-reading _thing._

Bakura continued, in a manner not unlike an adult explaining something simple to a particularly stupid child. "Those who are sired shall always bend to the will of their creators." Somehow, his look became darker, and his gaze almost seemed to slip through me. "It is their eternal curse …"

Before I could read too much into this bizarre mood, he shook his head and gave me one last toothy grin before turning around and stalking towards the fireplace, his back to me. Giving a ghost of a sigh, I slid down the post and sat curled on the floor.

So there was a curse … aside from banishment from the day and certain pungent vegetables. I was a vampire now, and vampires were eternally damned. Now I know that Bakura could inflict pain whenever he saw it fit for me to hurt … and I couldn't die from any mortal wound, removing the limit on the damage the white-haired devil could cause me.

I scratched at the holes in my neck wearily. _Just great. Welcome to hell, Malik_.

Suddenly Bakura spoke up from his place near the fire. "Don't waste your time trying to do any of the things you used to do. A vampire's body is not like a human's—our only sustenance comes from the plasma of blood, so the intake of food is impossible. Take it into your body, and it will only sit and _rot_ inside you." He turned up his nose again. "Not good for the smell. Also, breathing has become unnecessary; the hemoglobin carries enough oxygen to last us _days_. If you don't think about it, it helps." He didn't turn to look at me while giving these little scraps of information. He stared at the fire instead, seemingly losing himself within its wisps of curling smoke.

I started feeling very depressed. A question suddenly reappeared in my brain; a question that had been running through my head since the red-eyed monster first bit me in the alleyway. The word fell off my tongue pathetically.

"Why?" _Why me_, I want to ask. _Why did you have to kill __**me**_?

Bakura cocked his head, giving me a look that clearly told me he thought I was stupid.

"Why? Because your vampire body knows what to do, so getting your still-human mindset involved with your new instincts will just mess everything up," he said.

As I had half-expected, Bakura misinterpreted my question. I would have let it go, too, had he not continued, quietly and under his breath. "We are beyond such things that tie mortals to their insignificant, pointless lives. We are truly the Earth's most perfect race."

His words instantly angered me. "Chosen people? Chosen to do _what_? Wander over the earth in eternal darkness, never again to see the light of day? To be reborn as a walking _corpse_?"

His eyes flashed, warning me that I was crossing a boundary. But I didn't care.

"What is immortality, really? At the cost of our humanity—our very souls—we have damned ourselves to lives without any meaning—waiting centuries only for our bodies to decay. What is life, without pleasure, without happiness, without _love_? How worthless is your life, Bakura? Or mine?"

Bakura's eyes grew wide in fury, and he brought back his hand. "Be silent!" He screamed, and then struck me with such a force that I was thrown backwards into the bedpost, my head colliding with wood. To my surprise, pain does _not_ blossom in the affected area as I had been expecting—could that be Bakura's doing? Despite myself, a small amount of gratitude surfaced for the white-haired psychopath.

Bakura took three long strides until he was directly over me, and then crouched down swiftly to my level. When I peered into his burning, hateful wine-red eyes, I flinched, expecting him to strike me again. He grabbed my chin, and raised my head up … I braced myself for an impact.

And then he blows me away as his gaze became softer, his touch gentle; he stared at me through half-lidded eyes as his cold hand slid over my cheek, and he leaned over to place his lips gently against mine.

As son as the delicate kiss began, it was over. "You will get used to it."

Not waiting for me to respond to that, as if I ever _could_, he pulled me up by my arms and pushed me back upon the mattress. I watched as he stepped back a distance, folding his arms like an insecure child.

There followed _very_ awkward silence. He didn't seem to know what to say after our violent argument, and I don't blame him. How does anyone revert to decent conversation after a fight with a person they just murdered, cursed, and kidnapped (and violated), all in the same night? _Comment about the weather_? Decidedly not.

So I helped him out by starting a conversation, though my tone was far from friendly.

"Where have you taken me? What is this place?"

He seemed startled at the sound of my voice, as if he had been deep in thought. He looked around, almost as if he'd forgotten where he was for a moment, and then his gaze slowly floated back to mine.

"This … this is my place."

"Well, yes. I sort of figured that. But, where exactly _is_ your place?" I folded my arms too, to counteract his superiority complex and to attempt to look like he didn't intimidate me. "I mean, are we still in Domino—or Japan, for that matter?"

He looked around once more, and for a moment I could almost swear he looked unsure again—but then he answered me confidently, "Emuln Machae, in the Ulaid Providence. Two miles from Armagh."

I blinked owlishly, the words coming from his mouth foreign to me.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I just told you."

"Yeah, Elmo Machiavelli. Where in the seven hells is _that_?"

Bakura rolled his eyes, shooting me a look. "_Emuln Machae._ At least, what remains of it … it used to be the capital of the Ulaid Providence, but that was a very, very long time ago, in Old Eire," he explained, with a tone suggesting that he thought I was stupid for not understanding. And if there was one thing I hated above all else, it was feeling stupid.

"In plain vernacular language, please," I snapped, narrowing my eyes. "What the hell is the Ulaid Providence? What's Eire?"

Bakura blinked nonchalantly, and gave the first simple answer of the night. "Ireland."

"Ireland. Okay." Now that was a place I'd heard of.

And then I froze. _What did he say?_ I jumped up from the bed, and startled Bakura again in the process. "I-Ireland?"

Bakura looked cross at being taken off-guard. "Yes! What is your problem?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out—so I closed it and sat back down on the bed in a daze. "N-nothing, I guess. But h-how … how did you get us here in only a few hours? I'm assuming that we weren't traveling by day … plus I was unconscious! This defies all laws of physics! It's just impossible!"

A nasty grin spread over Bakura's features, and he chuckled throatily. "Oh, is it? There you go again, trying to identify the vampiric by the humanistic. Your idiotic _laws_ don't apply here, boy."

Right then and there, I lost interest. I'd had enough of the 'vampiric', whatever the hell he means by that. "Never mind."

Like a switch had been flipped in the back of his head, Bakura is aware and confident of himself again, and he once again becomes aggressive and cold towards me. "I suppose not is the appropriate time for laying down the ground rules," he said harshly, and my eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Ground rules?"

"Yes. Firstly, do _not_ let me catch you doing anything stupid ever again, like what you were doing before I came in," he stated flatly, giving me a sharp look. I scowled at him. That wasn't fair—how was I supposed to know I couldn't breathe? "This encompasses trying to breathe, trying to eat human food, trying to stay up during the day, and trying to make any of your dead organs function. You will get nowhere in any of these tasks.

"Secondly, I absolutely _forbid_ you to stake yourself, or overexpose yourself to the sun. If I even _dream_ that you're attempting to destroy yourself, I'll make you _wish_ you had succeeded!"

Oh, great. I could already tell that the rest of eternity with this guy will be fun. "Stake myself? Is it really so bad that I would try to re-kill myself?"

Bakura just stared at me colorlessly. "You will get used to it," he repeated. Then, after a poignant pause, he continued. "Thirdly, you are not to leave these premises without my permission or my accompaniment. Again, if you attempt it and I find out—and I **will** find out—you'll regret it sorely," he stated harshly, and my depression rose. I realized, though it wasn't unexpected, that I was nothing but Bakura's prisoner, and this … this castle, or whatever the hell it was, was to be my prison.

If I had a functioning heart, it would be hurting very badly right about now. However, despite the fog of gloominess hovering around me, I didn't fail to notice Bakura as he turned his head slightly to the side, sending me a mischievous glance through his white fringe. Intrigued, but not in a good way, I sat up and waited to hear what would fall from the crazy bastad's lips this time.

"Fourthly, you must obey me immediately and efficiently when I give you orders, no matter what they might be … and my first order …"

He grinned. I got the sinking feeling that I wasn't going to like this. "…My first order is that you must call me Baku-chan."

I fell off the bed.

Oh, the rest of eternity will be _such_ a blast.

**A good place to stop, methinks. When you next visit, I'll tell you more about Bakura's castle and some of the history behind it (discovered, of course, on my own because Bakura's a bitch and never talks about it.)**

**Join me next time.**


	5. The Dance

**Without further ado, dear audience, I shall continue where I left off.**

Bakura didn't linger in the room for much longer after recovering from his laughing fit at my reaction to the fourth rule. For not soon after the last guffaw, two swift raps sounded from outside the chamber door.

"What was that?" I asked, startled. Bakura, now on alert, swung his head around to observe the door. "Is there someone else here? Who is it?"

"Sh," Bakura reprimanded. "I must go. I'll warn you, Malik, only once more to stay within the walls of this castle. You may leave your room, but don't go poking your nose incessantly about." He turned to go.

"Wait! Who's knocking? What did the knocks mean?" I tried to question Bakura about it, but was batted aside like an over-curious cat. The door shut in my face before I could get a good look at the person on the other side.

Irritated, I turned back to study my new dwelling place. This was so unfair! It was one thing to force me to live here, but to keep from me knowledge about the other occupants in said home was just purposefully malicious.

Well, I had a better idea—if I wanted to find out about Bakura or this castle I was now forced to call home, I would have to do the finding myself. So I turned around and opened the door as gently as I could, revealing a poorly-lit hallway that led only a short distance before it descended downwards in a spiraling stone staircase.

The door to my room was the only thing on the landing—which led me to assume it was a tower room, high above the main floors of the castle. Listening for footsteps, but unsurprised when I heard none, I quickly began descending the stairs, hoping to catch up to Bakura without alerting him to my presence. I wanted to follow him silently, observe his companion, maybe hear their conversation, and hopefully find out what the hell was going on around here.

The stairs leveled out into a grander, slightly-better-lit carpeted hallway, but I didn't have time to admire the décor as there came a flash of color and a shadow of movement down at the end of the hall. With triumphant resolve, I dashed after the object; certain it was the white-haired vampire.

Through doors, down stairs, and being led deeper and deeper into the castle, I had to fly as fleet-footed as possible, silent as a gliding ghost, to keep up with the shadow without alerting it to my presence . I completely lost my orientation after bolting through the sixth door, my eyes kept on the movement ahead of me.

It was around this moment when the shadow paused. Voices sounded in the distance, hushed and quick. Gasping breathlessly, I ducked into a small niche in the stonework, careful to make not a single sound—which was much easier to do now that I was no longer alive, for there were neither loud pants of breath nor heavy heartbeats to worry about; nothing to give away my hiding spot except for sheer stupidity …

And it was comforting to know that, even though every other aspect of my life has morphed and evaporated, some things have stayed constant—like the fact that I was still a complete and utter _blonde_.

In the process of ducking into the alcove, I knocked over a small statue, which fell heavily to the floor and smashed loudly. I cringed. _Just great._ I counted to three, and then slowly leaned around the wall to see if I had been heard.

The fluttering shadow I had been chasing had stopped, and to my surprise it split in two—one shadow continued down the hall and around the corner, and the other backtracked and came to stop on the wall above me. The next thing I saw was Bakura, squatting down to my level and looking at me with a rather puzzled expression on his pallid face.

"Malik? What … what are you _doing_?"

Defeat. Gathering up my best glare, I folded my arms over my chest and—god, somebody kill me again—_pouted_ like a little child.

"What does it matter to you? I'm not gonna leave the castle. Leave me alone!"

Bakura only ignored my childish outburst as his gaze traveled along the crime scene—the cool, poorly-lit hallway, the direction he had come from, the smashed sculpture of god-knows what … I watched interestedly as his eyebrows scrunched together in thought, looking back at me. And then his eyes lit up as the answer came to him.

"You were following me."

Of course I had been. I just wasn't going to tell _him_ that. "No! I was having a look around and got … lost. These corridors confuse me. I saw a shadow coming at me from down the hall and panicked, that's all. Why on earth would I want to follow _you_?"

Bakura didn't believe me for a moment. He grinned smugly. "You cannot lie to me, _Malachi_, for I created you! I read your mind as easily as an open book," he stated cheekily.

_Oh yeah? Read this, _I thought, glaring at him hardly. _Fuck you._

He merely cackled, grabbing my arm and pulling me forcibly out of the nook I had crammed my body into. "I didn't pin you as the clingy type, Ishtar. If you wanted to stay with me, all you had to do was ask …"

Scowling, I wrenched my arm away from his grasp and spat, "Get over yourself! I don't even want to be _here_, let alone here with _you_, Bakura."

His grin diminished somewhat, and in that instant I was reminded how many times I had already insulted him. I had probably reached my quota for the night. But instead of losing his temper, Bakura only held up his index finger and wagged it back and forth tauntingly in front of my face. "Ah ah ah! _Someone's_ forgetting the fourth rule. Try again; call me properly this time."

_God_ how badly do I want to bit that finger off …! I'm sure he knows it too, somewhere between my bared fangs and that ability of his to hear what I'm thinking. "Don't patronize me! I'm not a child!"

I had no time to react as he suddenly reached out to grab me, drawing me swiftly and violently into his arms. He took up my right hand and laced our fingers together, while his other arms slid smoothly around my waist. He had thrown off my balance, so I was forced to clutch his shoulder to remain upright.

"W-what are you doing? Let me go!" Before I could even struggle properly, he started _dancing_ with me, of all things, twirling us down the hall to an imaginary waltz. I was utterly humiliated, though I couldn't help but admire the graceful way he moved, even when dragging a 120-pound lump along with him.

As we danced, he spoke. "You are mistaken. I may patronize you if I wish, for you _are_ a child. Now …" Without warning, he slid his arm up higher on my waist and bent me backwards over his arm in an elaborate dip. Gritting my teeth, I dug my fingers into his shirt to stabilize myself as the sensation of vertigo washed over me. His arm around my waist was really the only thing supporting my weight, which meant he was in control and he knew it. "What was that fourth rule again …?"

Though I knew I had been defeated again, I stubbornly refused to give him what he wanted on the grounds that he was being infantile and I didn't want to participate in his little game. But when he bent me over so far that I could see the door I had come through upside-down, I sang a different tune. The last thing I wanted to do was fall flat on my back, for that would mean humiliating myself in front of him—like _hell_ would I let that happen.

Gritting my teeth, I managed a low and sarcastic, "Get over yourself, _Baku-chan_ …"

And _then_, after all that pride-swallowing, that egomaniacal _**ass**_ dropped me anyway. I glared up into his triumphant, condescending smile. "That's the ticket, _Malachi_," he said. "Just follow all the rules and there won't be any problems."

He fell back out of my line of sight. Thinking he'd left me to wallow in my shame and embarrassment, I grumbled a bunch of insults and stood up, preparing to head back the way I came. Forget that _ass_ Bakura, he can have his dumb secrets. I just want to go home …

I nearly died again in fright when Bakura's voice suddenly sounded in my ear, low and coarse. Two arms embraced my waist as I was pulled back into the vampire's cold chest. "H-hey!"

"Not that this hasn't been delightfully _fun,_ Malik … but I do have other pressing matters to attend to. After such _efforts_ to remain by my side, however," he sneered in a patronizing voice that pissed me the hell off, "I will not part our ways indefinitely. You are to be outside your room at precisely midnight tonight, do you understand me? I will be waiting for you. I will take you to the study, where we shall dine together."

I shivered slightly at the word 'dine.' I knew exactly what was on the menu, and didn't look forward to the experience. I assumed Bakura was done ordering me around, because he didn't speak again. Instead, he turned by body around to face him, and backed me into the wall with a strong push on my forearms.

"What …?"

He stared at me hungrily, and I admit the feral grin spreading across his thin face scared me. My mind flashed unpleasantly back to the last time Bakura had looked at me with that face—when I was about to become his supper. I _really_ hoped that I wasn't on the menu again tonight.

He took me aback when he bent down and claimed my lips in a ferocious kiss; more passionate and lustful than I'd ever seen him before. I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried.

My inexperienced self could barely withstand his intensity—I trembled, knees turning to jelly, and tried to figure out what Bakura wanted me to do—but luckily, the older vampire seemed to get his fill rather quickly and detached himself from me. Still grinning that _stupid_ grin, he stepped back and said, "Oh, and Malik—wear something _decent_, won't you?"

Then he was gone.

Still scrunched against the wall where he left me, I slid down to the floor and wrapped my arms around myself, feeling colder than ever before. I remained frozen, lips still slick with Bakura's saliva and my head still numb from his lusty, aggressive passion.

"B-bastard …"

* * *

It took me around an hour and a half to find my way back to the room. While Bakura—or _Baku-chan,_ as I'm now forced to call him—was considerate enough to offer me an escort to the study, it seemed to slip his mind that, as I had been following him carefully, I had spared nary a glance to my surroundings, resulting in my being completely and utterly _lost_.

And so it was after many wrong-turns, mishaps, and strenuous stair-climbing that I found myself finally standing outside the barely familiar carved door of my room.

Turning the handle, I stepped inside, angrily muttering to myself.

"He's mad! Completely and utterly soft in the head! '_Wear something decent, won't you?'_ What the hell is that supposed to mean? Hashe forgotten? He _kidnapped_ me and brought me here against my will! What does he think; that I had time to bloody _pack_? I don't think so. So what am I supposed to wear? Nothing? Tch, I'm sure he'd _love_ that …"

There was a small wind-up clock sitting on the mantel over the fireplace, and I turned to look at it briefly. _'It's eleven-thirty … I only have a half an hour to come up with something …'_

Growling, I spun on my heels to stare at the dusty-looking armoire instead. "That thing looks ancient … if I open it up, what'll I find in there? Poufy trousers and green tights from the middle ages?" I mused sarcastically. However, seeing as I didn't have a better plan, I grasped the knobs and opened it up anyway.

To my surprise, it was chocked full of neatly folded, modern-looking clothing. "What …?" Confused, I reached for one of the items, pulling if off its hanger and unfolding it in front of me. It ended up being a neat, black turtleneck sweater, much like the one I bore now.

"Are these … Bakura's?" Somehow, I knew it wasn't true. These weren't Bakura's clothes. If they were, there would be a lot more leather and metal, I decided. "So … these must be mine." It was a concept I could barely grasp. Why? Why would Bakura have an entire wardrobe ready and waiting for me?

My eyes widened as something dreadful occurred to me. Abandoning the armoire for the time being, I went over by the fire and paced nervously.

"If … if my meeting Bakura in that bar was completely coincidental … and I ended up here by a cruel hand dealt to me by fate … then why would Bakura have a separate bedroom and even a separate _wardrobe_ ready for me when I got here? Could he have …" My head spun at the thought. "Could he have been watching me? Could he have prepared a room and bought all new clothing beforehand, because he had expected to bring me home with him?"

Could all this have been planned?

**My dearest audience, good morning and sleep well.**


	6. Dinner with the Devil

**Good Evening. No introduction tonight; let the story recommence uninterrupted.**

When I arrived back in my chambers, I had half an hour left until my _hostess_ came to fetch me. I spent six of those minutes exploring my unexpected new wardrobe, twenty minutes frantically trying on clothing, and three minutes wandering around my bedchamber, looking for possible clues that would help me piece together the events of my recent murder and kidnapping.

The last sixty seconds were spent hastily running my fingers through my ruffled hair; trying to get the beastly locks tamed before the king of _all_ beasts himself arrived.

Speak of the devil—there was curt rapping at the door, and without waiting for my assent, the door was opened and Bakura stepped inside.

He stopped just over the threshold and remained silent, hand still grasping the outside door knob. Wine-red eyes roved over my attire, and I could immediately see the glint of disapproval within them. Vaguely registering annoyance and defensiveness, I crossed my arms over my chest. I was about to snap something distasteful at him, but he found his words before I did.

"I only gave you two instructions, Malik, and it is _very_ disappointing to see that you did not follow either," he stated softly, and there was a lurking danger in his eyes that sent me into a panic. I thought back to what had been said in the hall over two hours ago; to see if I could find out what the hell I missed.

At my obvious blanking out, Bakura heaved a sigh and took a few lazy steps away from the door, elaborating. "I do recall telling you that I was to meet you _outside_ your bedroom and not within it," he drawled. "And then I do believe I told you to wear something _decent_." His nose increased altitude at the clothes I had chosen to wear, and his eyes are judging again.

I resisted the urge to squirm like an insecure girl under his scrutiny. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" My offended lilac gaze turned down to look at the stylish black cargos and the soft cotton turtleneck I had donned for the evening. "I'm comfortable."

He straightened a little, and seemed to put aside his annoyance—at least for now. Instead, a playful spark ignited in his bloodied eyes, and a smirk tugged at his lips. He put a hand on his hip and cocked his head slightly, saying, "There isn't nearly enough of your skin revealed for you to be decent." He dropped his arm to his stomach and threw back his head in loud laughter.

My cheeks instantly turned numb, and I knew that, were I not dead, I would be blushing. "You pervert! That's the exact _opposite_ of what the word 'decent' means!"

Bakura sobered rather quickly, the sounds of his laughter dying away. He turned to look at the clock hanging over the mantelpiece and his features fell into a nonchalant scowl. "Well, regardless of dictionary definitions, it will have to do for tonight. We are late as it is," he stated, and turned for the door. "Come, _Malachi_."

This time, as I was led down the spiral stone staircase and through the cold, empty halls, I paid very close attention to my surroundings. In light of recent revelations, I figured that the faster I learned my way around this castle, the faster I could search the appropriate places for answers. Speaking of revelations …

I began to trail slowly behind my white-haired murderer, glaring vacantly at the back of his head as I thought about my suspicions. Was my murder really premeditated? Had he been stalking me _before_ that night in the bar? I tried to sift through vague memories of the nights leading up to the 31st, to see if I suddenly remembered his face from somewhere else. But nothing was surfacing …

But, among those memories, something disconcerting did surface … after he'd bitten me in the alley, I had woken up at _home_, in my own bed. Since he was the only one who could have taken me there (Isis had known nothing about it when I'd woken her up shortly after waking myself), that meant he'd known where I lived. He'd known not only my street, but also my apartment building. The floor. The number on the door. He'd known that the spare key was buried shallowly in the mulch of the potted eucalyptus plant outside the door, and he'd known which room was mine.

As revelation after revelation came to me, I fell further and further behind Bakura's quick stride. I couldn't stop staring at the back of his head. The light emanating from the wall sconces harshly exaggerated all his sharp angles—his spiked hair and thin face and bony fingers—and he looked more like the frightening, dangerous wraiths of nightmares than an annoying, sadistic pervert. Now, in the illumination of the candles and my musing thoughts, he was _monstrous._

"_Malachi_, you're lagging. If you are done insulting me, please do catch up," Bakura suddenly drawled, from halfway down the hallway. He pierced me with a bladed stare from over his shoulder, tossing back the heavy hang of his cloak. "There are only a few more hallways to go before we arrive."

I felt vaguely embarrassed as I was reminded that he could read my thoughts. Feeling defensive, I snapped, "Didn't you mother ever tell you it was _rude_ to eavesdrop? Get the hell out of my head."

Bakura halted abruptly, but didn't turn around. I was immediately put on guard, remembering his earlier outburst and the mention of the power he held over me. I stopped walking as well, and positioned myself to flee, if I needed to.

"_Malachi, Malachi_ …" Bakura turned around, an unusual spark of something unknown firing his usually deadened eyes. "I have been over this before, don't you remember?" He took a step forward. I tried to resist taking a step back, and failed. "We are _bonded_, connected in a way that can never be duplicated by mortal man. Such a connection could never be broken, even if I wished it so."

He took another step. "I will _never_ be out of your head. Your mind, your thoughts—" he gestured to all of me. "It's all _mine_; do you hear me?"

And then he was silent. But he wasn't done with me yet; oh, no. He kept my gaze hostage with his molten eyes, and the fire within them seemed to engulf my entire body in flames. Pale fingers extended towards my neck, and though we were close the distance was enough so that, even fully extended, the digits did not reach me.

And then he slowly clenched his fist, centimeters from my throat, sending me a silent message. '_You died once because of me. I am fully capable of killing you again.'_ Control. Pain. All of these were within his jurisdiction, should I choose to disobey him again. His mouth corner twitched ever-so-slightly, and suddenly it was as if he was egging me on, wanting nothing more than to inflict these tortures upon me. I couldn't even function under the weight of the atmosphere and his heavy gaze.

And then he simply lowered his arm and turned back around. "Come along; walk at my side. It is where you belong from now on," he ordered—and like a violent thunderstorm turning into a soft shower, there was gentility in his voice, soothing and tranquil. _'Yes, I can kill you, but I will not,' _he seemed to say. He caught hold of my forearm and dragged me to his side, moving us forward as one unit.

Forgetting all about observing the castle halls as I had intended to do, I kept my eyes plastered to the floor, humiliated and defeated. I didn't attempt to loosen Bakura's hold on me; I figured that even if I had any nerve left to try, he wouldn't let me go.

And so I was led like a reprimanded puppy to the study—a magnificent circular stone room dressed in burgundy and trimmed with warm gold; his signature colors, as I'd gathered. I couldn't help but be awed by the luxuriousness around me; and though I had certainly gotten a taste of it before in my room, this seemed to take "comfort" to the next level. He pushed me into a high-backed upholstered chair, embroidered with gold fleur-de-lis, and took a seat opposite me in a matching set piece. All the while, he was watching my expression carefully, grinning in a pleased manner and lifting his nose in obstinate pride.

"Impressed? This castle appears ramshackle on the outside, but in truth I have spared little … 'expense' to ensure complete comfort," he drawled, as if pleasing me had been his only intention in bringing me here. I found myself wishing, as my head spun, that he would pick _one_ personality and fucking stick with it for more that two goddamn minutes.

Not quite finding my tongue (it had run off during the incident in the hallway) I simply eyed the crazy bastard warily, waiting to see what new explosion of anger would strike next and where.

He waited, and I realized blearily that his question had not been rhetorical. I forced my mouth to move. "I-It's beautiful," I told him honestly, sparing the richness around me a few inspired glances. But then I was trained onto his face once again, back to watching him.

He noticed the attention, and seemed to preen in it. I wanted to scoff and take my eyes away—but, damn it all, I couldn't! I couldn't because every single second Bakura was doing something else, changing personalities, switching moods—and I felt that if I watched carefully enough, focused on his body language with more concentration than I've ever had in my life, I could learn to read him and avoid the worst of his temper tantrums.

_Plus_, a secret little voice adds, far away (hopefully) from this mystical "bond" thing Bakura had been talking about; _anything he says or does could be clues to a possible premeditated murder and kidnapping! _I couldn't afford to miss a syllable.

Completely contradicting this resolution, Bakura had been talking as I had lost myself in thought and I missed most of it. I yanked my attention back down to earth and caught the tail end of his words, as well as his gleeful grin. "—until you see the Great Hall or the North Tower!" He looked into my eyes excitedly and expectantly, but all I could do was nod uneasily, having not paid his previous dialogue any heed. Oh, man, this was just _begging_ for another outburst.

Bakura's smile dimmed, and then fell into the normal scowl—except this time, there seemed to be a hint of disappointment in it. He took his eyes away from mine and lowered them to the mahogany coffee table between us, where a large decanter and two smaller wineglasses rested facedown on lace doily coasters.

He reached down to the vial, and removed the crystal stopper carefully. Though the decanter was made of frosted glass, I didn't need to see the contents within to identify the liquid—a coppery scent seeped into the air, invading my nose and unsettling my stomach. _Blood_ … I _really_ hope that other wineglass is for someone else …

He righted both glasses and carefully poured the thick red substance into each one. Setting the decanter aside, he picked up a flute and held it before me in a pallid hand, offering it to me.

_Damn!_

"Tonight we will celebrate your new life, and drink to eternal health—both yours and mine," Bakura suggested regally, raising his glass into the air as if an offering to ancient gods—and in that moment, he had a such a monarchial look about him that I couldn't help but liken him to a great Medieval King, like one of those who's portraits rest in a famous museum or landmark. Awed, I unconsciously took the glass.

Lifting the glass to his lips, he declared "Sláinte! To health!" and drank deeply. But I just twirled my glass in my hands idly, trying not to look at the contents. I failed, began to feel nauseous, and then I had to set the glass down, away from me.

Bakura noticed, drawing his mouth away from his flute and into a frown. "Why don't you drink?" He picked up my glass again and tried to press it into my slackened hands. "Drink! You must! Sláinte!"

Though I certainly wanted to avoid talking about the drinking that I _didn't_ plan on doing, I did have genuine doubt about the validity of his toast. "Health seems a pointless aspiration, doesn't it? We're _dead."_

Bakura let out an aggravated snarl and put the glass down. "You know absolutely _nothing_! We may be dead, you and I, but that does not mean we cannot be susceptible to certain dangers!" He obstinately slid my glass over to me. "Now you will ruin the whole toast and cause bad luck if you do not drink! Take it, take it! Drink!"

I proved just as stubborn. "Wait wait … what dangers are you talking about? I distinctly remember you saying something about being a perfect race!"

Bakura stared, and I could see him grinding his teeth behind his clamped jaw. Then, as if in resignation, he let go of the flute and settled back into his chair. "_Fine_. Fine. You want a little pre-dinner _chat_, then so be it. Ask away. Let's fucking _talk_."

He was angry, I knew it, but at the same time, he was offering free information and I wasn't going to let the opportunity pass. "What dangers?" I repeated.

He didn't miss a beat. "Sickness will indeed never touch you; that much is true. But we are corpses; animated cadavers that will mold and _rot_ unless kept immaculate and free of decay." He smirked, but it was ironical. "Cleanliness is godliness, as they say … and for us, it means the difference between eternal life and eternal _hell._"

I tried to process this information. "So if I don't _bathe_ every day, I'll basically disintegrate into a living pile of _rot_?"

Bakura nodded. "Especially your mouth. Be sure to brush your fangs, boy-o," he sneered humorlessly.

I unconsciously licked said pointy teeth, having uncomfortable visions of moldy, rotten old-man teeth. Ugh.

There was relative silence for a few moments, while Bakura remained stock-still in his chair. Then he asked, "What else? Perhaps you are curious about this place … after all, few castles of the old world are still inhabited now. The modern world has less and less use for ancient strongholds."

I admit I _was_ very intrigued, more than curious about numerous things from the castle to the vampire race itself—and most importantly, about Bakura. But something told me that Bakura wouldn't say a word about himself, at least not so early in our life together.

"Yes, I am actually. How long have you been here? Not you personally, but … vampires?"

Bakura leaned back in his chair and rested his head on his arm, acting for all the world like a bored student forced to attend a lecture on a subject he had no interest in; like telling me some information about my new home was tedious and a waste of his time. "Hm. This castle has been in vampire's hands for over 600 years. Passed from Sire to FirstChild within bloodlines, changing bloodlines every so often in territory wars between clans. This castle has been in my hands for 65 years."

Over sixty years? Longer than the collective lives of my siblings and I _combined._ This next question was only logical. "How exactly old are you?"

I jumped about three feet off the chair when Bakura slammed his fist suddenly on the arm of his chair, shouting, "Enough! I grow weary of your chattering!" He presented me with the wineglass again. "Drink," he presses.

I looked at it warily. As I feared, it is still filled with a thick, dark liquid—blood. Not that I _really_ believed it could turn into anything else … but I really couldn't believe I was dead and the property of some unstable vampire either, so there you have it.

Feeling a shadow of the sensation one usually gets before vomiting, I politely refused it. "Err … No thanks. I'm not hungry."

Wrong answer. Bakura slammed the glass on the table, cracking the neck and spilling blood over the sides and onto the wood. He stared at me furiously and snarled, "You're not _hungry,_ Malik? You expect to pass that lie to me, your Sire, and expect to get away with it?"

Oh, shit. So much for avoiding the worst of his temper tantrums. I opened my mouth, ready to sputter out some worthless apology, but before I could even get out the first syllable, he had leapt over the table and seized my throat, knocking everything over. I choked on my words.

"SHUT UP! Do you know how I know you're lying, _Malachi?"_ His grip tightened. "Because I know that no matter how much blood a vampire consumes; whether it is the blood of a beast or a man, a bastard or a king, _it will never be enough—_you, Malik Ishtar, will never be _not hungry_!"

I was terrified, lightly clutching at his hand around my neck and staring into his red eyes, but not moving a muscle. I didn't feel pain from his grip, but I was afraid that if I made a sound, that might change.

"I know your type! You think you are too _good_ to drink it! You think that drinking blood is _disgusting_, don't you? You're so pure, so righteous—bullshit! You're a vampire now, Malik, a murderer! A bloodthirs …ty … b-beast …"

He suddenly grew quieter and more unsure, his words fading into nothingness as his arm began to shake. His eyes lost focus and darted about the spaces over my shoulders, following something that remained unseen.

"What …?" I was still rigid, but I could tell that his attention was no longer on me—it was as if he were in an entirely different place, witnessing events and seeing people from another time. I was concerned and more than a little bit confused, but mostly I hoped that whatever he was watching was a full-length feature.

He let go of me and stood up straight, engaged with whatever specters haunted him; eyes angry but mouth trembling. "Bakura?" I whispered as softly as I could, because I didn't _really_ want to catch his attention. I simply watched as he zoned out, waiting for it to pass.

After a few minutes, whatever vision he was having dissipated, and it was if a fog had lifted from his eyes—they were back to that sharp, cold burgundy once again. Only glancing passively at me, he soon turned his back to me and took several steps towards the outer circular wall, where the door to the rotunda was located.

"I know you think I'm disgusting," he stated softly.

Wait, _what? _ After all that, _that's_ what he says to me?

I sprang up, shouting, "Wait just a minute! What the hell _was _that? What are you going on about!"

Bakura finished his journey to the rotunda doors, and grabbed the handle. "Get out," he whispered.

"Wait! Bakura, what about—"

"**GET OUT!"**

His scream was so loud and piercing that it nearly knocked me off my feet, and I was reminded whom I was dealing with. Terrified, I scurried towards the other side of the room. Just as I was yanking the door open, I suddenly looked back—and what I saw would remain in my head for the remainder of the evening, and for many nights to come.

Bakura had thrown open his own set of doors, but had not yet moved out of them. Instead, his gaze had found the moon, and his eyes were once again foggy and lost. His white hair breezed about his face from the outside wind, and the moonlight played off his skin, making it almost translucent in the dark. He looked so majestic, so ethereal …

He looked so _sad_.

And then he vanished in a black shadow, and the doors swung shut with a bang behind him. Left alone, mind reeling with conflicting emotions, I quietly left the study and began the long, confusing journey back to my chambers.

Would I ever get any answers, or would my life with Bakura remain one giant mystery?

* * *

**That is enough, for tonight. Baku-chan is indeed a complicated man ... and certainly he never made it easy for me to figure him out! I should like very much to tell you more about his side of the story, but I couldn't really do it properly. **

**Of course, who better to tell you about my Sire than the man himself? That's right, dear audience-though he usually avoids us when we gather, I have convinced (blackmailed) him to pay us a visit and bring us the next instillment of the story! So for those of you brave enough to return, please enjoy the story from Baku-chan's point of view!**


	7. Refusals and Reverberations

**Sit down and shut up. I'm here to prove a point, and that only. So don't get used to this.**

**Good. Now listen up.**

* * *

"_But we're dead. We don't have health. Bitch, cry, moan."_

I was tired of hearing his whiney little voice. Despite his pretty face, the boy's attitude was not sexy at all. Not like the image I had in my head of blood coating his perfectly-rounded bottom lip, spilling down his chin and throat in red rivers … a pink tongue darting out to catch a rouge drop—

I swallowed nothingness. I took up his glass and tried to make him take it, wanting to see that image in real life. "Drink," I commanded.

He paused; I could see him looking at the glass like _it_ was the one with fangs who could bite him any moment.

"Err … No thanks. I'm not hungry."

He _refused_ it. With a stubborn, arrogant air, the little bitch turned his face away and **lied** to me. A familiar thread snapped, and once again my temper reared it's ugly head. I slammed the glass down on the table, breaking it, and snarled, "You're not _hungry,_ Malik? You expect to pass that lie to me, your Sire, and expect to get away with it?"

How dare he look me in the face and _lie!_ His mind was an open book, ready for me to read whenever I felt the inclination to bend down and turn the page. At this moment, I could plainly read thoughts of fear and anxiety, with small subscripts of disgust.

_Disgust._

The thought was fuel to my rage. I leapt over the table and seized his scrawny neck, gripping it and squeezing threateningly. The decanter and glasses were knocked aside, spilling over the carpet and ruining it. I didn't care.

"SHUT UP!" I screamed, as he looked about to protest at his treatment. "Do you know how I know you're lying, _Malachi?"_ The name, usually sweet in my mouth, now had an ironic tang. "Because I know that no matter how much blood a vampire consumes; whether it is the blood of a beast or a man, a bastard or a king, _it will never be enough_—you, Malik Ishtar, will never not _be hungry_!

He looked so _pathetic_, frightened and shaking. But I saw it—he couldn't hide it from me, the glint of self-righteous anger in his eyes. I knew that look. I knew it by heart. That look was there, shining in another's eyes, every time I closed my own …

"I know your type! You think you are too _good_ to drink it! You think that drinking blood is _disgusting_, don't you?" I looked Malik straight in the eyes, but it wasn't he who I really saw._**He **_was there instead, looking up at me with hatred and disgust. I couldn't bear the sight of _**him**_. I tried to focus back on Malik. "You're so pure, so righteous—bullshit! You are a vampire now, Malik; a murderer! A bloodthirsty … blood th-irst …ty b-beast …"

And then it happened.

A familiar pressure filled my head, and I held onto Malik in trepidation as colors began to swirl, seemingly dissolving right off the objects in the room and pooling into a giant mess of hues and tones.

_Oh Gods, no! Not now … not here, in front of—!_

But it was too late. The earth spun beneath my feet as the entire world morphed, rearranging itself into a familiar nightmare—a dreadful vision of the past I was cursed to relive repeatedly.

"_Bakura …?" _I hear Malik speak, but his voice was so far away now … like a distant echo of another dream …

I closed my eyes, gripping the boy with white knuckles as I grit my teeth. I felt the ground still, and heard the sudden silence. I knew what awaited me when I again opened my eyes, but I didn't want it—I didn't want to see _**him**_!

However, I knew very well by now that these visions never went away unless viewed in entirety; so, anxiously, I raised my eyelids.

* * *

_The night was a cold one; the wind whipped through the trees, moaning with the volume of a thousand lost spirits, wandering through the mists._

_A slender, pale figure stepped out into the foul weather, a basket carried dutifully on his hip and a small bag of farming utensils slung over his shoulder. Now that the sun had set and he was free from its burning, murderous rays of light, it was time to get to work._

_White hair swung in the breeze, and the boy spared a glance at the moon. 'Where is he …?' Ever since his brother's disappearance three days ago, the boy had been worried sick, almost to the point of risking his life to venture out of their desolate woods and to the local town, to search for clues. Though it was common for his wily kin to vanish from time to time, the white-haired boy had a bad feeling about this one. As he headed to the fields, the wind seemed to whisper of bad omens, and he felt his restlessness and worry strengthen._

_Suddenly, above the cries of the wind, the sound of a horse's whinny cut through the night, startling the young man. 'Diabound?' Recognizing the sound of his family's white kiso horse, the boy abruptly turned around and headed instead towards the stables, and the origin of the cry. 'It almost sounded like … Diabound was in __**pain**__ …'_

_Believing perhaps that his brother had returned at last, the pale young man set aside his farming tools and reached for the latch on the stable door._

_After a moment's hesitation, he lifted the latch and gently pushed the doors open, peering into the darkness for the source of Diabound's cry. Trying to adjust his sensitive eyes, the pale one took a few shaking steps forward, tentatively calling for his missing brother._

"_B-Bakura …?"_

_There was a frenzied shuffling coming from a corner of the stable, causing the young man to freeze in place until the atmosphere was once again silent. He reached out blindly to the wall and grabbed a lantern with sweaty palms, kneeling and setting it on the ground. He fumbled around in his tattered yukata for the flint stone. There was more shuffling, this time accompanied by a heavy 'thud.' Gasping loudly in fright, he struggled to strike the flint, only succeeding to light the whale oil on the fourth try._

_The lantern was set ablaze, and a flickering orange sphere surrounded the boy, driving the shadows away. He lifted the lantern into the air, gulping audibly, and slowly crept towards the corner of the stable, pursuing the noise._

"_B-Bakura …? W-Who's there? Diabound?" One step at a time, the pale man shimmied along the wall's edge, lantern held out like a protective religious symbol. Red tongues of flame licked at the blackness around him, but the young man felt no warmth from the light—he had nearly passed out from fear by this point. Sheer determination and concern for his brother alone made him reach the back of the stable and lift the light over the corner, revealing the disturbance in its entirety._

_He screamed. The lantern was dropped but did not break, obstinately continuing to reveal what the pale man wished he could unsee._

_Lying on the floor in a heap was his family's horse, sporting vicious tears and puncture wounds in his beautiful, stained white hide and surrounded by pools of dark red blood. So terrible were the wounds, mostly scattered around the horse's neck, that the young man could only picture a terrible wild beast as the committer of the crime._

_That line of thought made him blanche. The blood was fresh, and the dead horse still warm—which meant that the likelihood of the murderous beast being near was high. The pale farmer plucked up the lantern and began backing away._

_How right he was to do so._

"_R … Ryo …"_

_The voice was so soft; Ryo thought perhaps he hadn't heard it at all. But he focused a frightened gaze just beyond the circle of light, near the bales of hay, where he could make out the figure of a man crouching beside them._

"_W-Who's there?" He cried, torn between keeping his eyes on the figure and turning to look for a weapon. "Show yourself!"_

_The man seemed to be in immense pain. He crawled forward on his belly like a snake, slowly making his way into the circle of illumination. When his face was revealed, Ryo again screamed. But this time, he screamed a name._

"_BAKURA!"_

_There was his missing brother, or so he had to assume—looking up at him from his position on the floor, the man was simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar to the pale farmer. The first thing Ryo noticed was the blood: this man's mouth and chin were smeared with red, and a quick once-over revealed blood smeared down his arms, covering his hands, and staining his clothes. Surely shaken by the sight, Ryo nevertheless forced himself to ignore it for the time being and gazed into the man's eyes._

_In this man's unfamiliar, unfeeling red eyes, Ryo saw a spark of his brother within, and it became an indisputable fact that the man was indeed his missing brother when he called again, "Ryo … h-help me …"_

_Ryo was at his brother's side in an instant. "Bakura! What … what on earth happened? Y … your __eyes__ are __red__!" And your __hair__ … what's happened to your hair?" Ryo blurted this out as the third anomaly came to his attention—Bakura's black, luscious hair was now as white as his own, glinting like spun silver in the places it was not tinged pink with blood. Ryo stared at it in awe, not being able to fathom what caused such a gruesome transformation in his previously-handsome brother._

_Bakura reached out a stained hand and grasped his brother's clothes, trying to use him as an anchor to sit up. "R-Ryo …" he sobbed, clutching the robe. "Ryo, something … something __**terrible**__ has happened. Please … help me …" He broke down into more sobs._

"_I don't understand. What's going on? What's happened! What killed our horse?"_

_Bakura sobbed harder. "He's … he's __ruined__ my life. He took my life and __ruined it!__ I've become … I've become a __**monster**__ … oh, Gods, help me …"_

_He looked up at his beloved brother, and the glow of the lantern made the bloody mess around his mouth stand out starkly against his ghostly-white skin … and it was looking at his brother's lips to check for the source of the blood that Ryo saw them; two gleaming white protrusions resting over the swollen tissue._

_And he understood. Giving a choked cry, he wrenched himself from his brother, letting him fall back down to the floor as he backed away. He stared down at his brother in shock, and then his eyes moved towards the cooling corpse of his horse. He eyed the wounds at the neck again, and this time it was obvious what they were caused by._

_Teeth._

"_It was _you_!__ Y-you … you killed __Diabound!" He swallowed, unbelieving of the words coming out of his own mouth, yet unable to refute them. "Y-you __**ate **__my__** horse …!**__"_

_Bakura's heart wrenched. "N-no … no, Ryo, please … h-help me, help …" He tried to crawl towards his brother, but Ryo only sprang away again. "N-no! Ryo!"_

_Ryo backed away until he hit the workbench in the opposite corner of the stables, and then began groping blindly behind himself for something. "What have you __done? __What have you __become?"__ His voice was high-pitched and shrill in fright, but also sharp and focused._

"_Brother—"_

"_You … you're a __**monster**__!"_

_Bakura's red eyes widened in horror. Using the rest of his strength, he pulled himself up on his knees, kneeling before his brother like a sinner kneeling before God, begging for eternal forgiveness. "Ryo! Its not my fault! I was killed, I was killed by—!"_

"_**Murderer!**__" Ryo's voice was without mercy. His hand found what it was searching for, and he grasped it tightly. "You're crazy! You're an __**animal!**__"_

"_Ryo, PLEASE! I didn't mean to! I couldn't control myself, and I was afraid that if I saw you first … but then I came upon the horse and … I wanted to _protect_ you, do you understand me? I did it to _save_ you__! I'm your __brother__ for the Gods' sake!"_

_Ryo seemed to lose his fear. He stepped towards his brother, kneeling down to stare at his transformed relative with hard brown eyes. In Bakura's eyes he saw sadness, pain, and fury … but below all of that, simmering beneath the burgundy surface, was the unstable glint of an _animal_._

"_Please …" Bakura whispered, and tried to take Ryo's hand._

_Ryo leaned closer to his brother's ear. "…You're not my brother. You're __**disgusting**__."_

_Quicker than Bakura would have ever given his weaker brother credit for, a dagger was pushed into his breast, a few breaths from the center of his non-beating heart. Bakura reflexively clutched the hilt of Ryo's knife, but the blade had otherwise no affect on the newly-turned vampire—Ryo had just barely missed his heart. Both brothers froze; Bakura's eyes reflected deep pain at his brother's betrayal, while Ryo seemed to almost sneer._

_Bakura tried one last time to appeal to his brother's mercy. "Ryo, _please_ … I need you …"_

_Ryo leapt away and fled the stable without another word._

_Bakura never saw him again._

* * *

I braced myself as the color came back in a rush, and all-of-a-sudden it was Malik before me once again. My brother's form had glided away, disappearing into the darkness. I was left drained and empty.

My slackened grip fell away, and I turned my back on Malik. I didn't want to look at his face anymore tonight—I had nothing left inside me to deal with his anger, disappointment, and sadness. "I know you think I'm disgusting," I said blankly, not realizing I had spoken aloud. I no longer cared for his disgust—let him despise me. Let him loathe me. Let him find all our kin revolting. I didn't care... Let him figure out what to do on his own, as I had to when I was first turned. I didn't _care_.

I moved towards the rotunda, intent on leaving.

Behind me, Malik had finally snapped out of his frozen state, and shouted, "Wait just a minute! What the hell _was_ that? What are you going on about?"

More questions. More anger. More confusion. I couldn't _handle_ them anymore tonight, couldn't he understand that? I wanted him to leave. I wanted to be alone again—I shouldn't have brought him here in the first place.

"Get out," I whispered, trying to hide how desperate I was.

"Wait! Bakura, what about—"

"**GET OUT!"**

My scream was finally enough; I heard him skitter backwards and open the door. I didn't bother looking back to see that he was gone; I just opened the rotunda doors. Outside, the moon hung heavy in the sky, nearly full—I looked at it for a moment, it's whiteness reminding me of—

I moved out into shadow and darkness, letting the black climb into my mind and swallow the white tendrils within it.

[_Murderer …]_

Echoed voices, whispering in disdain—

_[What have you become]_

_[You're crazy]_

They surrounded him, suffocating him, debilitating—

_[like an animal]_

_[… not my brother]_

* * *

"AAAAARRGHH!"

Stacks of papers and useless trinkets crashed to the floor as I swept my arm across my desk, knocking everything over in a bad temper. Outside the open balcony doors, there were blurred images racing through the night sky, and disembodied voices echoing between the stars. "ENOUGH, RYO! LEAVE ME BE!"

I pounded my fists on the worn wooden surface, and then slowly leaned down to rest my head on my still-clenched fists. "E-enough …" I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to calm myself, hoping the voices would fade if my temper diminished.

Tch. This was that Egyptian bastard's entire fault! What right does he have to _look_ at me that way, to poison my mind with his _ignorant_ thoughts? How dare he judge me so harshly? He didn't know anything.

_[Murderer …]_

There was nothing left to knock over on the desk, so I just tossed the whole thing aside. It smashed into splinters against the wall. The voices only seemed louder than ever, buzzing around my ears like a swarm of flies.

_[You're not my brother, you're a __**monster**__.]_

"Stop it, stop it!" I held my head in desperation, roughly twisting and pulling at my white hair, trying as I usually did when I was upset to make myself feel pain. Sensation, the ability to feel pain—to feel anything at _all_—I longed for it.

Nothing. Disheartened, I turned around to face my chambers. They were pitch-black, as I preferred them; the candles on the wall sconces were flameless and cobwebby, blatant with disuse. I had no real need of candles, for the darkness within me had crowned me lord of the night, and master of all shadows. But that was not the reason why I lit no fire, candlewick or fireplace, in my room.

Nor was it that I held lingering concerns for the infamous side affect of this dark gift … light, which could have melted the flesh off my bones as a younger sire, held less sway with me nowadays, developing into only a minor annoyance. It could (in normal doses, that is,) cause no further harm than a pressure migraine, and I found myself in the oft-taken-for-granted position of being _so_ powerful that even my disease bowed to me. The old texts would refer to me as "complete," or a "True Immortal."

No. I kept my private chambers cloaked in a black blanket simply because I wished to mask what was painfully, _obviously_, missing:

Somebody. _Anybody._

The shadows helped to fill some of the excessive space in the room; from the emptiness of the flower vase, to the empty chair by the empty hearth, and the untouched bed …

_[You're crazy! You're not my brother. You're a monster.]_

No darkness would ever hide that emptiness from me.

* * *

I had run out of things that I was willing to throw, so after pacing the floor for an hour, I felt claustrophobic and wanted a change of scenery.

I went outside and sat on the railing of the balcony. In the deep glow of twilight, the pale moon was like a silver bowl in the sky, reminding me of moon-kissed hair and skin as white as winter drifts … my brother, my tormentor, my _Ryo_.

_[You're not my brother.]_

It's not fair. How could I still be missing him so badly, even after all the centuries that have passed since that time? How could my heart _ache_ for him, when it should be nothing but dust within me? Why is it that my empty chambers still echoed with the hollow sounds of the past, even now as played host to a young, _beautiful_ creature that I myself sired?

I had cherished him, worshipped him even—and he had thanked me by betraying me, stabbing me in the chest and then spinning away to disappear into the night, leaving me alone in the bitter cold of my inhumanity. While it was true that I hadn't been the best role model for him in life, the important thing was that I had supported him the best way I knew how. I had tolerated _his_ disease—his white hair and his pale skin and his aversion to sunlight—but when it had come to _my_ disease, bearing the same symptoms, my brother had abandoned me. It wasn't fair …

I spoke aloud, looking at the moon but seeing my brother in its place. "It's not fair, Ryo … I stood up for you, bore our ostracization from the other villagers, _stole_ for you … and when I most needed your support, you flew out of my life like a pompous pigeon. It's not fair …" In seeking comfort, all I had received was the agony of abandonment, and the mocking of my lost humanity. The pain from that day will _never_ leave me.

I was shaken out of my thoughts suddenly as a drop of wet _something_ splashed upon my forehead, taking me quite by surprise. "Hm." I held out my hands, palm-up, to see if the weather had taken a turn for the worse, but felt no rain.

The smell, however … I did notice it rather quickly, for it was a smell that I had evolved to seek out—the metallic smell of blood.

I looked up.

It seemed my audience with the moon was not as private as I had believed … for above me, resting against the top of a turret, was Malik Ishtar. Still feeling the bitter sting of rejected anger, however misplaced, I wanted to shout up at him, demand to know why he was lazing about on the roof, maybe even continue our "fight"—but I became distracted as his honeyed hair blew about his faded mocha face, glittering in the weak moonlight. From my vantage point, it was easy to see the stained trails of blood on his cheeks, leading up to polluted crystal eyes.

He was crying. Crying for his lost life, no doubt—one that _I_ had stolen from him. Maybe he cried for his sister, his brother, his friends; all of whom he'd never see again. I suddenly didn't feel so angry with him any longer, just kind of empty.

Malik made me feel empty—emptier even than my bedchambers, my castle, and my heart combined. Which was ironic, since I had intended his presence to _fill_ the very voids he was now accentuating.

I didn't know what I was doing anymore. He was supposed to have brought a spark back into my life … to bring me out of my misery and back to my old self again. I had felt a quiver of it when we'd exchanged banter in the vampire pub he'd unwittingly walked into—the ghost of my old exuberance, attitude, and confidence. That night, I had felt _alive_ again!

But these past few days have been nothing like that time. Now there is only _more_ hatred and anger. More confusion, more sadness, more loss … I couldn't stand it. It would have been better for the both of us if I'd killed him that night.

Hell. It'd been better if Ryo hadn't missed my heart, all those centuries ago. Then I would be at peace and Malik would still have his life.

Another drop of blood fell on the cold stone before me, and I suddenly decided that the night was no longer comforting to me. Silently, one last look at the treacherous moon, I retreated to my living quarters, leaving my young possession to shed his tears in the darkness alone.

* * *

**There. Happy, are you? Excellent. 'It's not as easy as it sounds,' my ass. What's so hard about telling a simple story? You all must believe I'm a far superior narrator now—feel free to tell the Egyptian that.**

**Now give me compliments on my superb storytelling skills, and then go away.**

* * *

Hee hee hee! *slinks away for another year.*


	8. Late to Bed, Late to Rise

**Hello again! I hope you found Bakura's point-of-view enlightening! I also hope he wasn't too irritable while telling the story.**

**But now I'm back, so let's get started! I'm going to kind of pick up right where I left off, before Bakura's part last session. Enjoy!**

* * *

It was a bit easier to get to my tower room than the first time, but the castle was large so it still took awhile to return. It gave me some time to think, to try and process all the emotions I had felt during Bakura's … fit? Episode? I didn't really know what to call it, since I had _no clue_ what had really happened.

I was tired of all this. I wanted to go home _so badly_, to see my sister, to eat a fresh crisp salad and sit down in front of the television at 3 in the afternoon, just in time for my favorite program. I wanted to go sunbathing, laugh with my friends, to be normal again!

_It's your first night as a vampire, and you already can't stand it, _I told myself ironically. _How will you do this for another few centuries?_

I reached my room. Everything felt so foreign and uncomfortable … this was supposed to be my space, my safe haven in Bakura's dark castle—but it only instilled feelings of anxiousness and claustrophobia, so no sooner than I shut the carved door, I wanted out. But there was no point in heading back the way I came, where only gloomy halls and abandoned rooms awaited—so I went to the window, deciding that fresh air and the night sky was the best medicine for my dampened spirits.

I raised the pane and stuck my head out, finally getting a good view of my new Irish dwelling. I was surprised at how well I could see it—though the night was very bright, I figured it was probably due to my new "dark powers," or whatever Bakura had called them. I didn't really care at the moment.

Though he described it as a 'castle,' Bakura's residence in Emuln Machae was actually a large tower house, much like those seen all around Ireland and Britain. (Hey, don't look at me like that! Living with a museum curator had it's benefits, you know …) I was at the top of this tower, but looking off to the left I could also see an identical tower standing proudly beside mine, conjoined in a tight 'U-shape' with only a 12-foot gap between the two.

Surrounding the twin sentinels was a defensive courtyard with shorter, rounded battlements. A thick wall, fortifying the towers' defenses, cut a rounded square around the premises. Almost out of my view, a massive gate, complete with portcullis and a reinforced wooden drawbridge, interrupted the wall.

The castle itself rested on a small hill surrounded by a stream, over which was a charming stone bridge. I could see a path leading from the bridge up to the castle, but by now it was overgrown and impassible by anything other than feet. (To be fair, I don't suppose vampires often visited their fellows' homesteads by car or carriage. Or on foot, for that matter.)

Beyond the boundaries of Bakura's estate was a sprawling moor, and the lights of a town glittered in the far distance. The sight was beautiful, and I felt slightly more at ease. I wanted to climb down to the grounds and experience the beauty up-close, but I wasn't a fool. I knew that when Bakura said I would regret it if I tried to flee the castle, _he meant it._ And I didn't want to push boundaries with the albino terror just yet—it was too soon.

Instead, since the roof of the second tower was only a few feet in front of me, I sprang out from the windowsill and swung over the square merlons, landing somewhat awkwardly on the steep incline of the roofing panels. _Woah! _I felt exhilarated—I'd almost used _too_ much force; I wasn't quite used to my strength!

Feeling slightly better, I leaned against the lichen-covered slate and relaxed, staring and the full moon and crossing my arms. I zoned out, letting my mind wander.

I was desperate to know more about Bakura. When I had looked back for that brief moment in the study, everything about him from his eyes to his surroundings had seemed _tragic_. I just knew from instinct that his story was a sad one, and I wanted to hear it more than anything.

Other things crossed my mind about the white beast. Why, if he lived here in Ireland, was he in Japan two nights ago—and did I have anything to do with that reason? I was still entertaining the whole "conspiracy theory" thing from earlier; though now I kind of believed Bakura's crazy head wasn't capable of that level of forethought.

_Feh. Baku-chan. Yeah fucking right._

I heaved a silent sigh, and thought of my brother and sister. Would I ever see them again? Was I bound to this place permanently? The questions were pointless, because I already knew the answer—but that didn't make it any less bizarre. I couldn't even fathom never seeing my Egyptian homeland or the little apartment in Domino again! Deep down, I knew that even if I _could_ see Isis and Rishid again, I wouldn't. It was a painful choice, but I knew I couldn't let them to know what had become of me. It would tear them apart inside.

The Malik Ishtar they loved had died two nights ago, and I was given the task of burying him—but did I have it in me to do that? Could I really just watch as everything that was once important to me fade away?

What frightened me the most was the potential to lose my sense of self. What would I be like one hundred years from now? Would I still be recognizable as my own person, or would I eventually come to identify myself through Bakura? Maybe I would even forget my own name. No Malik—just Bakura's sire, Bakura's plaything, Bakura's _Malachi_ …

Surprisingly, I felt a sudden, unexpected wetness on my cheeks. I knew that surely if I were still alive, I would be in tears—but to think that I still _could_ be even after death …! Curiously, I brought gentle fingers to my face and daubed at my eyes.

The slick substance was a cold, horrifying red color. I was crying blood. The thought only made my eyes bleed their sorrow more intensely.

Weakly wiping my fingers on the leg of my trousers, I lowered myself into a sitting position, being careful not to slip down the steel incline. I brought my knees to my chest and draped arms over them.

I don't know how long I sat there, hair blowing in the wind, listening to the sounds of the Irish wildlife and my earrings chiming melodically against the side of my face. I closed my eyes at one point, falling into a sleep-like daze that gave me well-needed shelter from my disturbing thoughts and emotions. I felt as though I could stay up there forever, like a statue, watching over the peaceful moors with frozen, intense eyes for all of eternity. I began to imagine myself turning to stone, growing more corroded and moss-covered with each passing year; a crumbling, green-tainted gargoyle, beautiful by day and frightening and mysterious by night.

It was, ironically, the most at-peace I had felt since being brought here. But such peace can never last. Eventually, the sky started to lighten and I grew more and more uncomfortable and achy until I was chased off of the roof and into the castle by the dawn.

I felt strange as I shied away from the playful orange rays crawling through the window and stretching out on the floor. As an Egyptian, the sun had always been a welcome friend to me—now it was my most dangerous adversary.

"_Malachi._"

I must have jumped about three feet off the ground. Whirling around, I saw Bakura standing there, his red eyes simmering with hostility, scathing, and—maybe it was my imagination, but I saw a flash of embarrassment in his eyes. I imagine he was not happy to have had his little "episode" in front of me earlier.

"Bakura …"

"What are you, an idiot?" He suddenly snarled, striding over to the window and binding the curtains tightly shut. "What is it about you that makes you cause so much trouble? You've not been here one night, and have already broken so many of my rules!"

The idea was ridiculous! I had done nothing but _concern_ myself over this albino demon and his goddamn rules! "What—what rules have I broken?"

"This!" He shouted, whirling around and shaking the curtains pointedly. "I forbade you to overexpose yourself to the sun! And yet, no sooner than I come in here, I see you loitering in front of the dawn's light!"

"That? I didn't—I mean, holy shit, I wasn't trying to _off_ myself! I was just coming in from the window, that's all."

"And that's another thing! I told you never to leave this castle—"

"I didn't! I was just sitting on the roof—"

"**Shut up!** That's not _in_ the castle, that's _on_ it!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was acting like a child! Red-hot fury boiled inside of me, bubbling over into the worst rage I had experienced in a while.

"_You—"_

"You deliberately disobeyed me," he continued, cutting me off. "Sooner or later, you _will_ learn your place. I am your master and Sire, and when I give you an order, it better damn well be followed! You should be—"

I snapped.

Very close behind me was an empty, dusty vase resting on a shelf, and I startled Bakura when I picked it up and chucked it across the room. It smashed into a million pieces against the wall. "_Hang_ you and your damn rules! You've already taken my old life from me; I'm not about to let you have this one! I won't _live_ like this! I won't fear you! You may have the power to kill me, but I will keep my pride!"

Bakura's gaze had cooled significantly during my tirade, his expression falling from open-mouthed shock to icy solemnity. His mouth was a taught line of displeasure after my last echoed shout faded away, and the remaining silence rang shrilly in my ears.

It was almost funny how quickly my rage gave way to hesitance and then trepidation—I'm sure if I had any blood left, it would be rushing to my face. I understood his point very clearly; the suffocating silence was his messenger.

I shouldn't have been so caught off-guard when he calmly raised an arm and struck me, (the force of which sent me flying into the same wall that I had smashed the vase against), but I was. I could never seem to remember at the right moments what Bakura was actually capable of. Sprawled upright on the floor amongst broken pieces of porcelain, I quickly regained all the fear I'd had for this powerful, unstable vampire.

Funny how I kept losing it.

As my hand clasped my aching cheek, Bakura put his arm down, his scornful eyes never once leaving my face.

" … Are you done?" He asked slowly.

My eyes were glued to the floor. "Yes."

"Do you feel any better?"

" … Not really."

"Good."

He moved past me, going over to the bed.

"Come," he commanded, his tone much softer than before. He turned aside the covers and patted the mattress. "It has been a long night, and morning is fast-approaching. Perhaps sleep will better cool off your fool head. It will at _least_ save the life of another priceless vase."

I would've flushed again, if I could. I couldn't decide whether he was trying to lighten the mood with a snide comment, or was truly upset about the loss. I was still frightened, so I decided to be safe. "S-sorry," I stuttered, quietly but sincerely.

"Whatever—get over here quickly; I have some things to teach you."

I went over to the bed sheepishly, feeling slightly awkward and scared as hell. I really hope Bakura wasn't going to be sleeping with me in the same bed … I didn't want him anywhere near me when I was unconscious.

He must have heard that thought, 'cause he scoffed and said, "Don't flatter yourself. Hurry up and get in; I imagine we only have a few minutes left."

Confusion flickered on my face. "A few minutes until what?" I asked hesitantly, but he only pushed me onto the bed with a "Shut up!"

It was really uncomfortable getting into bed with Bakura right there, hovering over me like some kind of freakish mother. I barely had time to settle under the blankets before Bakura started talking.

"I only have time to say this once, so listen up. Sleep for a vampire is not the same as sleep for a human. You don't really get tired, so there is no transition from awake to asleep—not yet anyway, 'cause you're so young. You just have to know it's coming. So make sure to have the curtains drawn tightly shut and be in bed before dawn strikes; otherwise you are left vulnerable wherever you fall."

I was mildly horrified. "Fall?" I exclaimed. "You mean I'll just … drop dead where I stand?"

Bakura looked vaguely amused by my word choice. "More or less, yes. That is why it is important to make daytime preparations beforehand, especially when travelling abroad."

"Oh … okay." I said slowly, suddenly thinking back to a scant six hours ago, when I had woken for the first time as a full-fledged vampire. I had been really groggy then, disoriented and _definitely_ feeling tired. Why was that, if Bakura was telling me vampires didn't get sleepy?

Bakura rolled his eyes. "I didn't say that about vampires. I said that about _you._ It's not the same when you wake up in the evenings, anyway. Think about it—when a vampire is asleep, he or she is no different than a lifeless corpse. When the sun sets, the body is essentially reanimated. It's not an easy process. Your body is not used to it yet, so it'll be hard for you to get moving at first."

" … Oh. Okay," I said again, not knowing what else to say.

I guess Bakura didn't either, cause he looked at the drawn curtains, then at the door. "I … expected you to be asleep by now. It'll be any second now, anyway. I'll be going."

He looked at me with a strange, yet familiar gleam in his eye … I wasn't immensely surprised when he bent down and kissed me softly, eyes closed. But I wasn't exactly eager to reciprocate either—so I guess it was for the best that my body chose that moment to slump over, comatose for the next twelve hours.

* * *

I could not possibly describe the act of "waking up" for a vampire to those who have not experienced it. The closest I can get is saying that it's rather like how I imagine the universe felt after the Big Bang—it's a sudden, startling awareness that you _exist_, and a feeling like your insides had exploded in order for it to happen.

For quite a few minutes I could do nothing but lie there completely immobile. I couldn't feel my limbs, and my throat felt like asphalt. I felt oppressively tired and depleted of energy.

After awhile, I regained feeling in my legs, and pushed myself up in the bed very sluggishly.

The first thing I did was look around for Bakura. I wasn't looking forward to finding him staring at me over in the corner like the little creeper he is—but he was no where in sight, much to my relief.

I was starting to feel more 'normal' now, so I brought my legs up and assumed a more comfortable sitting position on the bed. My first independent night as vampire …! (I knew that had technically been yesterday, but I wasn't counting it 'cause I'd been scared, confused, and ignorant of my situation.)

As I was sitting there thinking about how I would kick off my new life, I suddenly became aware of a thick, musty scent in the air, rich and enticing to my senses. Sniffing around, the smell was not hard to track, and I easily located the source sitting in a crystal decanter on the nightstand.

Blood.

The decanter was identical to the one from last night in the study, and it rested on a beautiful silver tray. A goblet rested upside-down next to it. What really attracted my attention, however, was the square piece of parchment paper that leaned against the goblet. It bore my name, written in the center in a scrawled yet still elegant font.

I reached over to pick it up, and flipped it over in my hands.

_Malachi—_

_I didn't expect you to still be sleeping when I came up … late to bed, late to rise, I guess. I wanted to remind you that you are at a very vulnerable period in your vampiric development, so it is important that you build up your strength over the next few weeks. Little babes such as you need to ingest at least 16 fluid ounces of blood a day. I've decided that until you are 1 month old, I will provide the blood for you from my personal stores. After such a time as I feel you are ready, I will teach you to hunt for it yourself._

_I've left the appropriate amount on the table. Drink it right away—you need it. Remember to bathe twice, and mind you keep your toes in line tonight. Do not test me on this matter any further. (Though, I realize I might have overreacted about the roof. In retrospect I don't give two shits about it.)_

_Bakura. _

_PS-When you are ready, come to the study. I'm waiting for you there. _

I gazed at the letter in wonderment, re-reading it several times, pondering all it could teach me about my unruly host.

Bakura was a weird, walking contradiction. When I had stumbled into him at the bar the night of my murder, he had seemed strange, but not atypical of a rebellious teenager being drawn to a darker, more interesting world than his cozy, quiet suburban life. He'd acted juvenile, dressed youthful, and spoken like a vulgar "bad-boy" teen—but now, his true nature having been revealed, I found that his speech and his mannerisms seemed to become more archaic, and more befitting his age.

And then there were the times when the local accent would come out—Bakura was not even close to being of Irish heritage; anyone could see that. He was _definitely_ Asian (Japanese, judging by his location a few days ago.) But he must have been living here in Ireland for a long time—centuries or more—for his language was sprinkled with Irish slang, and the timbre lilted when the white-haired man was excited.

I put the letter aside, and turned my attentions to the blood. "Hmmm," I hummed skeptically, one eyebrow cocked. Though it _smelled_ delicious, I knew from experience that the scent was deceiving—it tasted like blood, and blood was _disgusting._ I mean, what was I expected to do? I am—was—a vegetarian, despising any kind of animal product because _um animals are smelly, hairy, and gross okay thanks._ Like I'm all-of-a-sudden going to get over that, just because I'm now supposedly on the tippity-top of the food chain. Sheesh.

So, though my body was crying out for that unhygienic substance, I left it where it was, and got out of bed. I stretched widely, and then headed for the bath, remembering Bakura's warning about my insides rotting and _oh man_ I'm glad I can't barf anymore because I totally would be right now.

Being a vampire in real life certainly wasn't as glamorous as being one in the movies—they certainly didn't _rot_ on the silver screen. They were always perfect and beautiful and a completely fantasy.

The bath was pretty, but really old-fashioned. A big pewter bathtub that looked more like an oversize cauldron stood by itself in the small semi-circular room, complete with clawed feet. But it was fun to fill up the brim with lavender-scented soaps, and I soaked in it for a long time.

As I sat there, completely submerged in the water (that was fun too, 'cause I no longer needed to breathe) I wondered if this was how I would start every day in my new life, a routine that would permeate my existence for centuries to come. I couldn't even imagine doing the same thing every day for thousands of years ...

I looked up through the hazy water at the stone ceiling above me, and couldn't help but feel that vampires were truly a cursed race indeed.


End file.
